


perhaps, you

by awaikioku



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Self-Acceptance, Stupid rules - Freeform, but rules are meant to break, y'all know how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awaikioku/pseuds/awaikioku
Summary: When a rebel Jung Wooyoung finally decides to leave the house to be independent, he ends up with a roommate, Choi San, all the reason he wants to be independent and dependent."Sharing a room comes with a condition though...do not fall in love with me."In which an emotionally confused rebel miserably falls in love with an enticing heartbroken wanton.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 29
Kudos: 182





	1. "You're my hero."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello! This is my first time posting on ao3 and knowing so many great writers are out there it's quite dauting to post what little scribble I have...but I'm a sucker for woosan and this was entirely driven by that force lol  
> Hope you find it entertaining! And if you do, please leave a comment and I would fly over the moon <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not gay,” Wooyoung repeated the prior words, this time more firmly.
> 
> He was straight. He was sure of it.
> 
> Thus this racing of his heart was nothing but an illusion.

Words like ‘independence’ or ‘responsible’ were the very last to be registered in Jung Wooyoung’s dictionary—if they will ever be, that is.

Little did he know that he was supposed to grab the gist of those two most irksome words even before debuting as a member of society, earning money, paying taxes—seemingly what responsible adults do.

Earning a key for room 403 from the dorm manager, Wooyoung adjusted his backpack, anxious of what it would be like to live with a complete stranger. He only knew how to live with a family—unsure whether what he experienced was an average family life—and with that knowledge, he could’ve guessed nothing could be worse than that.

Which was the sole reason he escaped from there.

He only wished his roommate wouldn’t be a big-eyed, a snob or a clean-freak. (He probably was asking for too much, but expectations for first encounters were always high.) Nonetheless, the first impressions were always important, and with a determined exhale, he plastered a favourable smile on his face, knocking on the solid door with a plate carved in 403.

Earning silence as a reply, he opened the door with the yet to be familiar key in his hand.

“Hello?” he gave out the best friendly voice, but it only echoed in an empty room. Apparently, the other resident was out somewhere.

Realising there was no one to impress, he relaxed his shoulders and looked around the room. There were two beds, one on the right and one on the left, a closet, an ordinary single lamp hanging from the ceiling and a desk at the back of the room facing the wall which had a simple window. His expectation for a boy’s room was to be messy, clothes and whatnot flying around the room, but that wasn’t the case for this particular room. 

It was rather clean, perhaps too simple because this person had few belongings filling up the space. The only evidence of someone living was a laptop lying on the desk, unattended charger plugged in the wall and a little disorganised bed—but what caught his attention the most was a huge bear plushie that was soundly asleep on that bed.

_ A plushie? For a man in college? _

Wooyoung grew rather skeptical. Perhaps the guy wasn't big-eyed, a snob or a clean-freak, but he could be a momma’s boy. Wooyoung chuckled sardonically before he slung his backpack on a vacant bed.  _ So what if a young man was obsessed with plushies?  _ Anything was fine, as long as it didn’t concern him.

Wooyoung was about to throw himself on bed when he heard the door open.

“Oh, hi there,” a young man with a full black outfit, walked in.

For a brief moment when Wooyoung was alone, he imagined a momma’s boy to be someone rather chubby, wearing glasses and insecure, but the man just dropped in was breathtaking.

He had a black hair, his bangs half up revealing his smooth forehead, below it were two sharp enticing eyes that glowed as if they could read through Wooyoung’s mind, his shapely lips attaining an inviting smile.

Wooyoung could almost imagine a seductive aroma oozing from this man, and had to shake his head to brush off such ridiculous imagination.

“I heard someone was moving in today. I’m Choi San, sophomore,” San swiftly takes out his hand for a shake, which Wooyoung accepts, but his fingertips slightly tremble. “Hi, I’m Jung Wooyoung. A sophomore, too.”

_ Why the fuck are you trembling Jung?  _ He cursed internally, hoping he did not give off his anxiety within.

The two drew closer to a distance of handshake, and that was when Wooyoung noticed a bruise just below San’s defined collarbone, a purplish red mark striking painfully on his sleek skin, visible from his deep V-cut top.

Wooyoung gulped at the suggestive vividness in his vision, and averted his eyes quickly to the side. Which happened to be San’s bed, where a bear laid unmoving as if it owned the place.

“Is that your plushie?”

“Yup. He’s name is  _ Kuma _ . He’s my sleeping buddy.”

San walked towards his bed and plopped, brushing his plushie ever so fondly.

“You still need a plushie to sleep?” 

Wooyoung wasn’t trying to make an enemy on the first day. But that remark was no less than a sarcastic would be defined, followed by an unintentional chuckle. Upon realising how mocking it sounded, he closed his mouth but it was a little too late as his words fell sound and clear in San’s ears.

After a moment of silence, San stated, “well, I need to hug something to fall asleep.” He then put up a lazy smirk on his face and asked, “will you be my sleeping buddy instead?”

_ Sleeping buddy. _

Something coiled in Wooyoung’s stomach from the sound of it. San obviously meant a hug pillow, and nothing that can’t be advised to young kids below the age of eighteen.

But somehow the view—the most attractive man Wooyoung has ever laid his eyes on, seated on the bed lazily, his chest partially exposed, his lips curved in the corner—betrayed the idea, and screamed allure.

“I’m not gay,” was all Wooyoung could blurt out.

For all Wooyoung knew of his nineteen years of life, he was only attracted to women. His heart thumped over their flirtatious laughs, lusted over their curves from their breasts to hips, and fulfilled to have a small figure fit into the frame of his arms.

“Too bad,” San said in a tone clearly not disappointed.

_ Too bad? Did that mean he is gay? No, but that love bite could be from a girl, and he could be bi...wait, why do I even care about his sexual orientation? _

“Is there a reason you’d move in at such an unusual time?”

San’s question finally snapped Wooyoung out of his distracted thoughts.

“Family issues,” he replied.

San only gave a nod, not pursuing to ask any further. He gladly wasn’t the inquisitive type.

“So, there aren’t many rules in this room. We are just going to take care of ourselves, within our space. I won’t lecture on cleanliness as long as it’s decent.”

He definitely wasn’t a clean-freak either. Wooyoung replied with an “okay!”

“Don’t let someone else stay in this room. Absolutely no sex.”

Wooyoung coughed lightly at the sudden remark, but agreed in a nod.

“And lastly...do not fall in love with me.”

Wooyoung stared at San’s face. He thought that the rather self-centered and absurd condition was a joke. But his expression said null. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t.

“I’m not gay,” Wooyoung repeated the prior words, this time more firmly.

He was straight. He was sure of it.

Thus this racing of his heart was nothing but an illusion.

It’s surprising how many things go unnoticed under one's nose until they decide to pay attention to it. It was only after moving in the dorm did Wooyoung realise he shared a lecture with San. Once he saw, he couldn’t unsee. Choi San was glowing in the lecture room, his glow seemingly attracting people careless of their gender.

Wooyoung wondered how near-sighted he was to not notice anyone as popular in the class. The question about his sexual preference that lingered in the back oh his head was answered sooner than he thought.

“Good luck protecting your back virgin,” Yeosang, his friend of good six years, taunted.

Choi San was a person in the limelight—only that Wooyoung was too occupied with his life to catch any gossip. According to this brand new information Yeosang was feeding him, San was gay, well-known for his wanton behaviour. He’d sleep with anyone so long as he was in a mood, however always sticking to no-strings-attached relationship. Strangely, Wooyoung imagined a butterfly—prettily dancing before one’s eyes, that might land on your finger out of caprice, but never to be anchored.

“So, how safe is your virgin?”

“Pretty safe. The rule goes, no sex in the room.”

“Oh.”

“One more condition, to not fall in love with him.”

Hearing that, Yeosang couldn’t hold back the laughter. “To say that to the straightest man I’ve known.”

Wooyoung simply shrugged in response. He turned back his head to look at San sitting at the back of the lecture room. He was still glowing.

In a week, Wooyoung learned that San was pretty chill and fun to hang around with. Wooyoung would sometimes throw downright questions and juvenile whines—because, oh boy, he was such an immature brat yet to be tamed—which San never failed to embrace in a soft smile and in a collected manner. There were several occasions Wooyoung wanted to check his identity card just so he could make sure they were the same age.

In a month, Wooyoung learned that San would often come back late in the midnight (or early morning), or never at all, leaving his bed unattended. In that first month, Wooyoung was actually pleased that he had a room all by himself, falling asleep peacefully without having to feel another person’s existence in the darkness.

But in the second month, that was somewhat the reason for his insomnia, too curious to know his behaviour. Where does he alway go so late at night? Where does he stay if not in his room? However, those questions never left Wooyoung’s mouth (although, he hardly knew how to hold back whatever pops in his head), probably because the answer was served right before his eyes; brand new purple stains on the plain white canvas of San’s neck.

Wooyoung was too scared to ask. Too scared to hear the answer. With the unbothered personality of San, he wouldn’t even hesitate to answer that question. But the bruises on his neck and chest were already too realistic, and Wooyoung was petrified of how wild his imagination would run if he ever heard of those details.

It was only until Wooyoung got a ping from Yeosang did he remember he had an assignment to hand in tomorrow. Wooyoung was definitely not a bright student, but particularly hopeless in the English class. Which was why he ended up sleeping through the entire class, involuntarily or not, and which was probably why San’s presence in the class wasn’t registered in his head until recently.

He pulled out a worksheet crumpled in the bottom of his backpack and read the first line in an attempt to fill in. It looked gibberish. Wooyoung silently sighed seated at the desk of the dorm, carrying his head, when he heard the door open.

“Why do you look stressed?”

The other owner of the room stepped in, and Wooyoung instantly gulped at the sight. San’s wet hair was dripping water as he ruffled it with a towel. As if his wet black hair and slightly flushed cheeks weren’t captivating enough, he was topless—revealing his smooth honeyed skin, droplets rolling on the surface playfully, down to his torso where loose sweatpants hang dangerously low.

Wooyoung unconsciously fanned himself, and averted his eyes quickly, muttering a complaint, “don’t you know how to dress properly?”

“I forgot to take my shirt, princess,” San chuckled teasingly, grabbing the T-shirt that laid on his bed.

_ Was he strolling the hallway half naked?  _

“ _ Princess? _ ” Wooyoung grumbled.

“Why, you were practically drooling seeing a man topless.”

“Hah, such a weak physique isn’t worth my praise,” Wooyoung scoffed, turning the pen in a circle with his fingers, keeping the act cool.

He wasn’t shy. He was only startled. Why would he feel flustered looking at a man’s body? Although San’s delicate facial features were undoubtedly beautiful, as though of an empress in ancient Korea, androgynous somewhat, but his body was unmistakably man’s. Well-shaped figure with fine muscles—not as built as Wooyoung, but toned.

So why should he feel agitated with just another man’s body?

“Is that the English assignment?” San, who was now completely dressed, leaned down to look at the cause of Wooyoung’s headache.

“Yeah...and you’re going to wet the paper,” Wooyoung warned, concerned at the droplets falling off San’s damp hair. Sharing a room for two months, Wooyoung has caught several of San’s habits. One was not coming back to the dorm at night (with God knows what he was up to), and another was that he didn’t bother drying his hair.

“You’re gonna catch a cold like that,” for the first time, Wooyoung decided to let out his concern for San’s habit.

San blinked several times at Wooyoung, before he said, “then dry it for me?”

Now it was Wooyoung’s turn to blink at the man who was smiling brightly, rather childishly at him.

“No?”

“I’ll help you with the assignment.”

“Didn’t know you were such a smartass?”

“I just happen to be a little good at it. At least better than someone who takes the class as a napping session,” San shrugged.

Wooyoung pursed his lips. So, San noticed him. He was openly asleep in class and that was nothing to hide, but somehow he felt a little ashamed that  _ San _ saw him. However, it was true that he snoozed off in class, and it was true that he was desperately in need of help.

“Deal.”

Wooyoung sat on his bed, San on the floor resting his back on the bed frame, while his body settled in between Wooyoung’s legs. He was amused to see San from such an angle, given that they were about the same height (he hated to admit he was slightly shorter than the other, claiming two centimeters was just an error).

The usual San looked unconquerable, intimidating also, that air surrounding him almost swallowed Wooyoung whole. But now looking at San’s hair whorl, his figure falling in between Wooyoung’s legs perfectly, he instead looked like a child, arousing the need to protect this dainty being. More so as he leaned in to the hot air blowing his hair without defence, giving himself up to the cozy feeling of someone ruffling through his hair.

Wooyoung wasn’t used to taking care of someone. Heck, he couldn’t even take care of himself. Which goes without saying that he had never picked up a hair dryer taking part in someone else's labour. This clearly was  _ something _ . And strangely, Wooyoung found this quite comfortable.

“This feels good,” San mumbled, his eyes narrowed like a dog that was being cradled it's stomach might. “Would you want to be my personal hair dryer?”

“What do I get in return?”

“Help with English assignments?”

“Aren't you asking for too much?” Wooyoung chuckled under his breath, raking the other's soft hair now almost dry.

“Too bad,” San muttered disappointedly.

Even though his offer was turned down, San diligently paid for the favour, helping Wooyoung out with his assignment for the rest of the night.

═════•°• •°•═════

San strode in the cafeteria, intending to grab something to fill his growling stomach when someone called his name.

“Choi San!”

Turning his head to the voice that had grown to become familiar to him, he found the man he’d guessed—Jung Wooyoung, and another person next to him who he knew the face of, but not the name.

Wooyoung, reserved at the table, waved at him with a bright smile on his face, asking, “why don’t you join us?”

San had no other plan, so he agreed with a smile, excusing himself briefly to go get something to bite. Behind him, he could hear Wooyoung’s company nudging him glumly, “what’s happening?”

“He helped me with the English assignment. What’s wrong with eating lunch together?”

The previous class before lunch break was the English class, and San saw Wooyoung proudly handing in the assignment he had successfully completed—thanks to San. Or more precisely, it was more or less San’s work, rather than the person in charge, because honestly Wooyoung was just that hopeless.

San found Wooyoung interesting. At first he thought he was another homophobic brat who was persistent to declare his identity as straight as if any other sexual preference was _ criminal _ , and that obstinate macho guy who’d count values on man being  _ manly _ taking a guy hugging plushie to sleep as the most weakest of the being.

But as San spent two months with him, he had learnt that he was just painfully honest and clueless, rather dumb, where most people would find him immature and annoying, but somehow San found him cute. Like how even though he was clear on the point that San was gay, he was enthusiastic to share lunch time with him. He was too pure. San guessed Wooyoung was someone who’d judge on his instincts rather than information that others fed him with—a trait to be admired.

San was also too experienced to let Wooyoung’s intent gaze slip through his cognition. He was very well aware of how the boy seemed to have difficulty looking away from San, stealing a glance every chance he got. Wooyoung probably thought he was doing it in a very subtle way, but San had long noticed it. Only, he wouldn’t tell. Because he enjoyed teasing him more than he should.

Yet, the condition stands. No sex, no relationship in the same room. When love is in close proximity, everything seems jubilant at first. That only lasts for a short while, until everything goes tumbling down, crushing your heart with that exact proximity. San knew  _ too well _ . And he was too over and done with it.

Grabbing a sandwich and an iced americano San sat down at the table with Wooyoung, and his friend whose face displayed ‘discontent’ as Wooyoung seemed to have failed in convincing the third party to join. But San was all too used to such unwelcoming gestures, that he didn’t even bother.

“San, this is my friend of six years, Kang Yeosang, who I haven’t found a way to get rid of,” Wooyoung joked, earning a shot of glare from Yeosang.

“Nice to meet you, Yeosang. I’m Choi San,” San, giving out a friendly smile that he was well accustomed to, fished his hand out, which Yeosang shook hesitantly, probably not wanting to be that bitch.

“Didn’t know you two got so close?” Yeosang commented, shifting his eyes back and forth in between the two.

“We are roomies. Shouldn’t we be on good terms?” Wooyoung shrugged.

“Good enough to dry other’s hair,” San winked at Wooyoung teasingly, in which Wooyoung replied with a flustered cough.

“What??” Yeosang exclaimed, demanding Wooyoung for an answer.

“It’s nothing,” Wooyoung coughed, clearing his throat of that sour orange juice. “It was just San’s condition to help me out on the assignment.”

Yeosang hung his mouth open in disbelief. Whatever ran through Wooyoung’s brain was a mystery, as he found an opportunity to stuff marshmallows he was munching on in Yeosang’s mouth, which was returned by a slap on his head. Clearing out two marshmallows Wooyoung successfully popped in, Wooyoung asked. “Are you still straight Woo?”

“The fuck? Yes, I am!” Wooyoung protested strongly, until the following line followed deflatedly. “I just need some meetups with girls.”

San laughed at how Wooyoung dropped his shoulders. Then suggested, “I know a good place to find people.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but lean in hearing this. “Where??”

“Hongjoong’s party. Tomorrow,” San answered.

“Hongjoong? You’re friends with Kim Hongjoong?” Wooyoung repeated the name, backing away slightly from San.

“You know him?” San asked. Wooyoung nodded with a bewildered face, throwing a marshmallow in his mouth.

It wasn’t too surprising that Wooyoung knew Hongjoong, San thought. The guy was quite the talk of the town, with his wealthy background and how he was a rather successful fledging musician. He had been producing songs, some which he’d post on soundcloud entertaining his listeners (quite a number for an ordinary person) of which San guessed a third of the university were, if not half—calling Hongjoong the respectful graduate of the academy.

There were several reasons why Hongjoong would host a party from time to time. One was that he wanted to provide entertainment for youngsters living in this middle-sized town, not carrying much to go frolic on. Another being an opportunity to blast the songs he made, and have a look at people actually enjoying them with his bare eyes. As much as art goes, it was quite a rarity to interact with people who appreciated them, and Hongjoong was the man who loved to grasp the feeling submerged in the atmosphere as a whole.

“Coming?” San prompted.

“Yup,” Wooyoung answered, his faint awkwardness now completely dissipated while slight excitement coated the voice.

“You’re welcome too,” San flashed a smile at Yeosang who was giving a frown.

It was only until an hour later after Wooyoung announced his departure that San finally decided to get dressed for the party. San registered in his sleepy head that Wooyoung told the man clinging on his bear plushie that he’s leaving to Hongjoong’s. San underwent a fierce battle with his will to keep on sleeping, skipping the party completely before he could finally stand in front of his closet, pulling out whatever seemed decent—purple silk shirt and ripped black skinny jeans.

A lot can happen in an hour of an unsurveilled party filled with high hormones of young folks. A step in, and San was brushed with an air infiltrated with all sorts of alcohol, smokes, perfumes and sweat. Hongjoong’s music was bouncing such air up and down, while youths danced, chatted, made out, and whatever that fulfilled them as they unleashed their daily stress.

San, who was a regular in this house party, straight up walked to the kitchen (not forgetting to greet familiar faces passing by) to grab a drink. After chugging a glass in one go, he refilled it before he walked over to the living room with no particular aim.

He quickly scanned through the dim lit room, wondering if Wooyoung could find one or two appropriate girls to make out. Soon enough, he spotted the questioned man, standing very close to a girl with long hair, giggling. From where San was, and music blasting in the room, he couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he could clearly see how they both leaned in for a hot kiss. San pursed his lips impressed, and was also glad the boy was meeting his desire.

“Yo.”

Someone tapped San’s shoulder. San tilted his head and recognised the owner of the house—Hongjoong.

“I told you this song would be a bomb in your party,” San grinned, raising his glass to cheer. The song currently playing was Hongjoong’s recent production, which was no stranger to San. This upbeat song was his current favourite.

“Thanks. There was a guy looking for you,” Hongjoong mentioned the name, which San recognised as one of his fuck buddies. The usual course of the party was for San to get drunk, make out with a couple of hot men, and decide to spend a night with one. The mentioned guy could pass, he thought, as he thanked his old friend walking off to look for the guy.

The night went on with San downing more alcohols, making out with the guy. Before he left to grab another drink, he left the guy promising him the night, so that San could explore further.

Successfully obtaining another intoxicating liquid, San walked off the kitchen not concentrating on where he was going—ending up bumping in someone, the content of the glass spilling over the other.

“Shit, I’m sorry! Are you oka-,” he brushed the other’s wet chest with his sleeves before he looked up to see his face that he was all too familiar with. “...Yunho.”

“...San.”

San wished he could take back his apology earlier on. There were too many things he regretted in his life, and Yunho was one of them, but one positive outcome through this man could’ve been how he learnt to suck it up, be mature and above all, to not crack his emotional side.

“What are you doing here?” he gave a foreign smile as he would a stranger, although his voice attained an unwelcoming tone. He literally wasn’t welcome—Hongjoong had banned him from stepping in his house. 

“I...I just came to collect Mingi,” Yunho mumbled.

_ Mingi. Of course. _

“I see,” San said coldly as he walked off.

“San! I-”

San ignored the tall boy’s calling. He also was aware how Yunho stared at his back intently as he walked off, but he wasn’t going to turn back. Not once.

San walked in the living room in hopes to shake this vexed feeling off by some dancing, when he was met by another unexpected encounter. An unknown man pushed him with force, making him stagger back.

“You fucking whore!” he condemned. Slightly sane people around noticed what was going on and watched, taking a distance from the two.

_ First Yunho, and now this? What a day.  _

San felt like he should’ve never left the bed or Kuma, and regretted choosing to come here in the end.

San studied the man who just accused him, his face red with fury, his lips twitching also because of fury. San was quite good with names and faces, he was the type who’d remember the smallest details, but he had no idea who he was.

“May I help you?” San asked casually.

“You fucking turned my best friend gay! What’s wrong with you? Just enjoy your homo life with the kinds of you, instead of infecting innocent ones!” the man was yelling from his lungs, almost beating the sound of blasting music.

San didn’t know the man, and didn’t know who his  _ best friend _ was. What he did know was that he had never done anything out of another’s consent, and did not even go hunting for straight men. Why should he go through such trouble if he had plenty in his pond?

San chuckled playfully. “You sound jealous. Are you sure he was your best friend? Not your crush?”

Just when everyone thought he couldn’t be angrier, his entire face shot red, nerves popping out.

_ Jackpot. _ San smirked internally.

Although his brain had an upperhand, San wasn’t prepared for another furious launch. He lost balance and fell on his backside. The man grabbed the sitting San’s collar madly. The spectators half worried, half amused felt things were getting out of hand, as some girls let out a small scream.

“YOU-YOU!! DON’T THINK EVERY MAN IS AS FILTHY AS YOU, CHASING OTHER MAN’S ASS AND DICK. YOU DISGUSTING SHAME TO HUMANITY!!!”

San frowned at the guy’s spit showered his face. And that was all he cared for. San should’ve been mad or hurt with such vulgar words, but he had already gone through plenty of homophobic reactions and slurrs that he had sadly grown immune to them.

Maybe he needed to get punched once or twice for the guy to calm down and feel satisfied, San sighed. When he almost accepted his faith so that things would end quickly, another figure budged in.

“Put your fucking hands away from him,” he growled.

San looked up at the owner of the command, the blonde man now at the front of the crowd glaring at the guy grabbing San. It was none other than Wooyoung.

“Or else what?” The guy challenged, not releasing San but instead provoking Wooyoung by pulling San up by his collar.

San could see how Wooyoung’s blood shot up his brain in a flash, but only briefly before the guy in front of him was smacked away with Wooyoung’s tenacious fist. San blew a whistle looking at the end result of a man rolling on the floor, cupping his bruised cheek.

“Growing your disgusting ego big doesn’t compensate for your small dick,” Wooyoung spat, gaining a cheer from the crowd.

Encountering such embarrassment, the man stood up trying to lounge back at Wooyoung, which was halted by a loud order.

“STOP!”

Everyone in the crowd turned their head, some moving away creating a passage for the one and only, Kim Hongjoong. Hongjoong stood in front of the guy, his figure smaller than the other but his aura overwhelmingly intimidating.

“I don’t tolerate bullshits in my house. LEAVE. NOW. And never step in this house again.”

Hongjoong’s stern voice left no room for argument. Multiplied by the disturbed atmosphere coming from the surrounding, the guy had no choice. He shamelessly glared at San and Wooyoung one last time before he scurried away.

“Thanks Wooyoung,” San patted the man who was still glaring at the guy who left, seemingly having a hard time to ease his anger.

“I’ll kill him if he ever lays a finger on you again,” he fumed. “Why aren’t you mad? Why did you let that bastard do as he pleased?”

San blinked, and answered simply, “I’m just too used to it,” as if he had given up on everything.

The answer seemed to infuse another spark of anger in Wooyoung. “You’re  _ not _ supposed to get used to shits like that! You don’t deserve it.”

Something warm sparked in San’s heart. He truly was too used to facing  _ shits like that _ , and dealt with them single handedly. To see someone display his raw emotions so purely on his behalf was not what he had experienced.

“Thanks, Woo,” he repeated, emphasising his name fondly.

Wooyoung looked startled having called his nickname by San for the first time. It perhaps sounded too friendly for the roommates of two months, but he didn’t protest.

“Yo, come join truth or dare!” Hongjoong called the two from the sofa, surrounding a circular table settled with few other people. The party was already back to normal. The tendency of the youths quickly attracted to bloody events, then forget it as if it never happened, proven.

The two boys approached the table, San opening his mouth in sarcasm. “Truth or dare? Aren’t you too old to be involved in teen’s game?”

Hongjoong frowned in disagreement. “Do not put an age limit on anything, young man. We are never too old to do something.”

San guessed that the offer was because either Hongjoong was trying to subside the earlier disturbing event and let San and Wooyoung have some fun, or he simply was just bored, to which he obliged.

San sat next to Yeosang, who happened to be a participant of Hongjoong’s game, and Wooyoung opposite them.

“Are...are you okay?” Yeosang asked worriedly.

“Yes, thanks,” San smiled in response.

The game was quite chilling and enjoyable, the bottle spinning in the middle to name the victim, one of it being Wooyoung dared to pole dance for a minute on an imaginary pole. He succeeded in making the table guffaw, saved from gulping a drink for an unimpressive answer or result. Everyone was fairly drunk when the head of the bottle stopped in front of Yeosang.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What do most people think is true about you, but isn’t?”

Yeosang consumed the question with his half-lidded eyes. 

“That I’m blunt and straightforward, giving opinions to people, while I’m the most stupid coward who keeps things hidden,” he slurred on the unexpected answer.

Wooyoung, who was also tipsy, stared at his friend of six years, squinting his eyes, probably clueless of his friend’s confession.

The group tried to lure more information out of him, but Yeosang adamantly refused by sealing his eyes and mouth completely. The next target was, “San!” Hongjoong called out excitedly.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he answered immediately.

One girl from the circle dared, “kiss someone who you think is the most attractive in this room!”

Some fussed that the dare was too easy on him, but most people were eager to see who he’d choose and to see him kiss right in front of their eyes. Following the girl’s suggestion, San lazily scanned through the room for any probable candidate, until his eyes finally landed on the one opposite him. 

“Jung Wooyoung,” he smiled teasingly. San could hear the group gasp, and feel Yeosang’s sleepy eyes shooting them wide open. The mentioned boy, too, was glued to San’s smirk in widened eyes.

Although he did look around the room playfully, just for entertainment purposes, there was only one person in his mind the moment the dare was posed. The man who stood up for him against a taller guy. The man who’d be mad for his behalf, when he himself had given up on undeserved mistreatment. The man who was genuine, strong and foolishly honest—Jung Wooyoung was the hero of the night.

The bystanders gulped as San approached the desired man. San’s challenging smirk stayed while he walked over leisurely, noticing Wooyoung growing stiffer. He leaned down the now wooden man, placing his hands gently on the curve of his neck. 

“S-San…,” Wooyoung stumbled on his words hoarsely, flustered to have the alluring man’s face within his breath, his eyes locked.

“You’re my hero,” San whispered, closing the smallest gap they had in between.

The crowd squealed while Hongjoong rolled his eyes, Yeosang clenching his fist.

While most people would close their eyes at such moments, Wooyoung shot his eyes open at the feeling. Which was soon met by San withdrawing, his lips curved up playfully. None of the people around noticed, but San only kissed Wooyoung’s chin. Even though Wooyoung proved to not be homophobic, he wasn’t gay, and San didn’t want to force him anything, thus the chin.

With successfully fooling the crowd (and to be fair, they never mentioned where to kiss), San was about to leave if not caught by the force pulling him back. 

“Woah,” the spectators sighed, and San would’ve too if his mouth wasn’t covered with Wooyoung’s. One hand pulling San’s arm closely, another hand on his cheek, Wooyoung savoured San’s lips, which, after a few seconds, San followed passionately.

The temperature between the two shot up, breath intertwined reeking of alcohol as they hungrily savoured the other’s lips. It was the world of two, as if everybody else had disappeared.

No sex. No falling in love.

But who said no kissing?

They both weren’t as ignorant to think kissing would develop a relationship. It was just a game—right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our rebel is in total denial, yet helplessly sexually frustrated tsk tsk


	2. “Would you mind sleeping with me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What greeted Wooyoung the next day in the English lecture was a grimace face of Yeosang.
> 
> “I can explain,” Wooyoung started. “I was drunk.”
> 
> “Yeah, that’s probably why your true self popped off,” Yeosang eyed at him judgingly. “Are you bi...or is it Choi San?”

No matter how much he tried, Wooyoung could not get over the taste of San's lips lingering on his heavily. 

_What have I done?_

He beat himself thoroughly on his way back to the dorm room, following San with a safe distance behind. The second San smirked at him defiantly, he felt troubled. He wasn’t homophobic, but he declared him straight and kissing his roommate didn’t sound appropriate. Kissing a man wasn’t so much of a problem, but kissing _San_ was. Yet that moment when San’s beautiful face landed right before his bare eyes, he lost all his ability to move—a fish on land. He could almost hear his throbbing heart buzzing in his eardrums, fear and one other emotion he couldn’t tell, until he realised San kissed his chin and felt the indubitable disappointment—that it was anticipation. The thought process was discarded and everything was instinctive when he pulled San’s hand, _the straightest man_ initiating a kiss with a man.

Kissing San came with a whirlpool of emotions he couldn’t decipher. Wooyoung may never acknowledge, but the sheer impact of San was magnetic, his lips the most alluring factor he was drawn into since the first encounter. To have finally touched something he craved for unknowingly was electrifying.

He resolved that if anyone, especially Yeosang were to ask, he was going to stand strong on the point that he was utterly drunk to even give a right judgement. Yet he himself very well knew that this was only an excuse because his drunk but sane self will mark down what has happened tonight, taking a space in that not so capable brain of his. That at that moment, he knew the other was not a female or anyone else but San, and _he_ made a choice to kiss that man. 

He couldn't resist his body from catching heat as his mind registered the softness of San's lips, perfectly moulding to fit his, the heat it carried, not being able to differentiate as the two multiplied in intensity, and that perfectly matching feeling to have him in his arms.

“Woo?” 

The calling of San had snapped Wooyoung out of his messed thoughts. He was still not used to hearing the close address from San and he felt jittery in his lower belly, far from the feeling of dislike. It was a moment later that he figured that they were already in the shared room.

“Y-yeah?” he answered, clearly not ready.

“Would you mind sleeping with me?”

His mind couldn’t register the words immediately.

_Would you mind sleeping with me?_

The sound of it blurred Wooyoung’s reasoning as if the kick of an alcohol wasn’t enough, almost convincing him to choose the answer with his instincts, again. What on earth was going on with this roommate of his?

“Excuse me?” were the only words Wooyoung could squeeze out of his tensed throat.

“Oh, wait. I mean, a hug pillow. No sexual anything,” San clarified calmly. “I tend to feel more lonely when I drink, needing physical human touch to sleep. I kind of ditched my date today and my precious Kuma unfortunately can’t provide it so....”

Wooyoung stared at San who was gently grazing his beloved plushie on the bed, trying to tame his beating heart. He must’ve asked nonchalantly like he would his date (he probably didn’t even have to ask), unminding how it tantalised Wooyoung so badly.

“No,” Wooyoung asserted.

San gave a disappointed sound, not further pushing the matter, throwing himself on the bed, hugging the alternative Kuma tightly. Wooyoung sighed shakily. To kiss his roommate (a male) was already out of line, and he wouldn’t be able to face Yeosang if he did as much as sleep with San on one bed. It was his last thread of sanity that he so desperately clinged on.

What greeted Wooyoung the next day in the English lecture was a grimace face of Yeosang.

“I can explain,” Wooyoung started. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why your true self popped off,” Yeosang eyed at him judgingly. “Are you bi...or is it Choi San?”

The question kicked numbness in Wooyoung’s brain. At the back of his brain, bottom of his heart, something obscure tingled, struggling to surface in the opportunity provided, but was suppressed shortly.

“Neither. I’m straight.”

Their assignments were handed back, and Wooyoung looked down at his paper in shock. The letter ‘A’ was scribbled hurriedly on the right corner of the paper. He was bad at studies, hopeless at English. He couldn’t help but giggle at the result, spinning his head immediately to San at the back of the room. He waved his paper with a huge grin, earning a soft smile from San.

Perhaps he should start taking English lessons more seriously. And with the help of San, the hopeless students wouldn’t be so hopeless anymore, Wooyoung thought. Excitement was blooming in his heart when he heard the professor who was also just informed announce, “Jung Wooyoung, please go to the student guidance room.”

The sound of ‘the student guidance room’ itself gave out a bad premonition, which turned into a conviction when he faced his parents in the room. His parents—the very reason he wanted to be ‘independent’ and ‘responsible’ so that he could escape their cell.

“Wooyoung, please take a seat,” encouraged the teacher who was responsible for _guiding_ students.

Wooyoung had almost forgotten his father’s sharp glare as if nothing in the world satiated him, and the worrisome face of his mother as if everything was going to take a wrong turn. He had almost forgotten—and he wished he could have kept it that way.

“It was reported that you one-sidedly hurt someone at some party yesterday,” the teacher stated calmly, in which his father snorted disdainfully.

It seemed that the dickhead not only wasn’t satisfied slandering San but had to snitch it to the university. Well, it could have been a bystander reporting it but Wooyoung was fixed, it was that bastard himself. Unfortunate thing was that he belonged to the same university.

“We don’t want to take the matter too seriously, but as it was reported, we were to call your parents and ask for their guidance.”

 _Guidance?_ Wooyoung scoffed internally. If anything, that was the license they have failed to obtain when they began their career as a parent. That was the last thing he needed from them.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Lee,” spoke his father. “We’ll talk to him and make sure it won’t happen again.”

After that brief talk, the Jung family left the room. Wooyoung was well aware of how his parents cared about how they appeared to others, and only when they were alone did their true side surface.

“So this is what you wanted to do running out of our house?” his father ridiculed. “To punch someone? To embarrass us that our nineteen year old son isn’t disciplined and needs parental guidance?”

“Wooyoung-ah, why did you hurt your friend?”

Ignoring his mother’s out of the place question, Wooyoung retorted. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Says a minor who can’t even control his hormones!” his father roared. “If you don’t want us to teach how you should behave, then be like Seonghwa for once.”

 _There he goes_ , Wooyoung sighed. Every second with the man assembling the frustration he had deadly tried to scatter being away from them. Every conversation they had had to involve that particular person’s name.

Seonghwa—his elder brother who is smart, diligent, kind, polite, good-looking, whatever went along the line of ‘ideal son’, whose path Wooyoung was demanded to follow. He couldn’t count the times his parents recited how impeccable his brother was and how _he_ wasn’t. It didn’t matter whether or not he got a regular position in his school soccer team. It didn’t matter whether or not he poured his heart once he had into writing a letter to his parents on their anniversary. It didn’t matter whether or not he stood up against the bully, for the bullied. It didn’t matter whether or not he was chosen for the graduation choir. He was never good enough. All his achievements were not worth a mention compared to Seonghwa’s glory. They always made sure to rub that in his brain, scarring his heart because he wasn’t worth their acknowledgement.

“You’re grounded for a week,” his father stated.

“What??”

“Go get your belongings. We’ll be waiting in the car,” he said sternly, not waiting for any response as he briskly walked his way out with his wife. If looks could hurt, his father would be in a pulp. Wooyoung stood there piercing at the man’s back, until he finally gave up and bitterly accepted his much hated destiny. All the elation and motivation he felt earlier on, shriveled to nothingness.

He was shoving his toothbrush in his backpack when the dorm room opened. Either San was done with today’s lecture or has a free time in between, Wooyoung didn’t know.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, noticing the messy sight of Wooyoung scramming his belongings roughly. “Is everything okay?”

“My parents came,” Wooyoung answered, unable to hide his underlying acrimony of which anyone could tell it wasn’t for a happy occasion. “And I’m grounded for a week.”

San furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Why?”

Wooyoung was done with packing. He didn’t have much belongings anyway, more than half of his stuff still sleeping in that stifling residence. Zipping his backpack, he slung it over his shoulder and stood up.

“Because I’m a brat who needs discipline,” Wooyoung curled the edge of his lips mockingly.

He wasn’t going to tell the true reason. He didn’t want to risk San feeling the blame on him. Because honestly? Wooyoung didn’t regret punching that carper one bit. Instead he regretted not punching him more for this penalty he had to go through.

“Take care, San. See you in a week,” he patted San’s shoulder, taking a leave.

“Let's have a movie night,” San prompted.

Wooyoung tilted his head at a sudden invitation. “A movie night?”

“When you come back,” San smiled. “Tickets, popcorns, drinks, all on me. Sounds good?”

“Add hotdog to that,” Wooyoung smirked.

San laughed at the boy’s bold request, “deal.”

After hearing that promise, Wooyoung finally walked off, his feet lighter than before. He never thought a smile would creep in knowing where he was about to go, only because time that can’t be travelled physically, could mentally.

Wooyoung stepped in his room, which looked lonesome having lost its owner for a while. He found it funny how the room he had lived in for nineteen years now rather looked foreign to him, compared to the dorm of two months that he shared with a complete stranger.

The rule was; to be stuck in the house. To help his mother do house chores, to never miss a family dinner, to study through online lectures and whatever his friends will send him, and what topped off the cake of insipid layers was a cherry of Seonghwa as a tutor. He found it rather amusing how they tried to tame him despite their nineteen years of effort had clearly run down the drain.

Wooyoung dropped on his bed powerlessly, propping his head up to drop a gaze on one freedom they let him have—his phone. He looked at the white screen displaying the clean computer-formatted lettering that curved itself in ‘Choi San’, his number freshly settled below.

His moment of ease was interfered abruptly with a knock on the wooden door.

He didn’t even bother answering, because none of the three possibilities were welcome in the last resort he could tuck himself in in this suffocating house.

“Wooyoung?” Soon after, the door was opened by his brother, Seonghwa.

“What do you want,” Wooyoung, clearly uninterested in his need, rolled on the bed flat.

“I just wanted to talk,” Seonghwa said in a sad tone, receiving a cold shoulder from his brother.

Seonghwa was a kind and forgiving man. He was that one person in the family who’d never raised a voice against him, who’d never cornered him hysterically, who’d never insulted him. But he was, without an exception, a member of the family who never accepted Wooyoung for who he was. His judgement and conscience breathed within his father, and Wooyoung was just a poor and clueless younger brother who needed help. Ignorance didn’t make one any less criminal.

 _I don’t want to_ , Wooyoung scoffed inside, but he knew the man wasn’t going to leave anyway, considering he grabbed a seat.

“I heard you punched someone at Hongjoong’s party,” Seonghwa initiated hesitantly. So this was going to be a pep talk about how he should not go jabbing around people.

“You must have had your reasons but...you should never resolve in violence.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes wearily.

“And…,” after a pause, he added, “I told you not to go to his party.”

For the first time since his arrival, Wooyoung decided to prop up on his elbow to take a glance at his brother. “I thought you guys were friends?”

“Yes...but his parties are not civilised.”

Wooyoung couldn't hold back laughing at how he tried to engage the word ‘party’ and ‘civil’ together. “That’s why you’re so boring? Having only experienced _civilised_ stuff?” He retorted, making sure to put in plenty of thorns upon delivery.

“Wooyoung-ah-”

His friendly remark and his sorry look ignited the flame in Wooyoung’s stomach.

“Look, it’s just a waste of your breath talking to me. Don’t you even bother tutoring me, because I don’t want to trouble my smartass brother who’s busy with his med studies,” he quickly bounced off the bed, pushing Seonghwa out of the door, plastering his face with a sarcastic smile.

“It’s not a trouble-” Seonghwa reassured, which was cut off by a loud slamming of the door.

Wooyoung hated everything. He hated his egoistic father and his mother who only knew how to listen to the former. He hated his brother who so blindly drank their parents twisted love, the only filter he could see Wooyoung through was ‘pity’. He hated this house which only tried to breed the absolute human being, the conditions precisely written down in a long list, and that was the only personality they approved of.

Yet he studied with their money, he ate with their money, he habited with their money. What is a rebel if they kept on chewing off someone they so wanted to break apart from? He hated himself, whose entire being was made by them. He hated himself for acting all tough and disobedient, while in reality he couldn’t live on his own.

When the dark thoughts whirling in the room almost swallowed him whole, a buzz was heard from his bed, his phone illuminating it’s screen alleging its existence.

**Choi San**

Which one do you wanna see?

https://cinematodayxxx.co.kr 

**Wooyoung**

Already preparing for the movie night?

**Choi San**

I’m too excited that it keeps me awake at night.

Wooyoung laughed at his cheesiness.

**Wooyoung**

Dude, not a night has passed yet.

Or do you live in another country?

**Choi San**

I live in Kuma world that works on its own clock.

So what genre? Horror, romance or action?

**Wooyoung**

This action movie has a good review but...horror.

**Choi San**

You sure?

This one is said to be hella scary.

Can you handle it?

**Wooyoung**

Pfft. I think the question is, can YOU handle it?

I can’t wait to see your face twisting in fear.

**Choi San**

I think you’d just be dazed in awe looking at my face.

**Wooyoung**

...aren’t you too much?

The curve on his lips that formed the moment he saw the notification decided to sit there, fading dark thoughts that were gathered a moment ago ever so easily. Ordinary texts from Choi San. It was that simple.

It was safe to say that San’s text messages and Yeosang’s visiting—the only friend that their parents approved of—kept him sane.

“Here’s the English notes for today,” Yeosang handed his notebook. Not a particular gift Wooyoung was pleased with, but since in _quarantine_ , he was utterly bored that he’d rather study—who would’ve thought.

“Are you planning to go back to your dorm tomorrow?”

“Is that a question? I need to attend this fucking family dinner tonight and I’m set free. I can’t _wait_ to escape from this stinking place first thing in the morning,” Wooyoung thrived, not being able to hide the excitement of finally being done with a painful week. He never thought he’d be so eager to go back to university but God, he was.

Yeosang’s eyes wavered, as if wanting to say something but didn’t know how to initiate. That was when Wooyoung’s phone pinged in his pocket. He swished it out, what was displayed on screen glowing his eyes a tone brighter.

“San?” Yeosang asked. Wooyoung exchanging numbers with San, frequenting not so important messages was a week old information to him. 

“Mn,” Wooyoung answered absentmindedly, busily tapping the screen to reply. San was letting Wooyoung know the time to meet up at the cinema tomorrow (followed by some needless chitchats which Wooyoung definitely enjoyed), further increasing Wooyoung’s anticipation for the next day. Excited to watch the _hella scary_ horror movie, in someone’s treat, of course.

As if that was a cue, Yeosang finally squeezed out the words that he was holding back. 

“I think you should stay away from Choi San.”

Wooyoung’s attention drifted from his phone to the man in front of him, his face straight and serious. Wooyoung wasn’t going to hide his discontent frown. “Why?”

“I don’t think he has a good effect on you. Look, you were punished because of him,” although nervous, Yeosang tried to maintain the calm tone, by no means trying to provoke the other.

“So, are you saying I shouldn’t have butt in? That it was okay for San to be assaulted?” Wooyoung’s tone was building in frustration on the contrary. 

“No, of course not. But then, you don’t know him well enough to risk yourself.”

“Well, do _you_?”

“...You don’t know who he used to share that room with,” Yeosang spoke carefully. “He-”

He tried to explain further, but Wooyoung had enough.

“Who cares? I’m his current roommate. I know enough to say he didn’t deserve that,” Wooyoung stood up, his fist clenched. He felt betrayed. Yeosang out of all people, who’s been his friend for long, was supposed to understand the choice he made. “I’d do the same for you, Yeosang. I’d stand up for people I care for!”

 _People I care for?_ When did Choi San, a man acquainted only for two months, who—Yeosang has a point—he barely knew of, grow such importance in his heart? He didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to take it back.

═════•°• •°•═════

A hue of pain bled within Yeosang’s eyes, which Wooyoung was too oblivious to notice—he’d always been.

_Then will you kiss me too? Just like you did to San, will you pull me into your arms, and kiss me like there was no one else but the two in the world?_

“Yeo, not you. Out of all the people, you shouldn’t be saying that to me,” the blonde male standing dropped his head low, letting it out in a trembling voice, frustration, disappointment, and pain evidently laced. He perhaps wanted to cry, as much as Yeosang did. But Yeosang had six years of practice with this foolishly transparent man, three years since he realised his feelings, that he was trained to grow numb and adept to push back his feelings, burying it deep in the grave of his heart.

“I’m sorry, Woo,” the words escaped Yeosang’s mouth helplessly in whisper, leaning in to hug the fragile man.

What was he sorry for? Sorry for judging San? Sorry for disappointing you?

_Sorry for falling in love with you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry my boo Yeosang, we love you ;_;


	3. “I just want to be your help."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This isn't a date._
> 
> Repeating his mantra, he tried to ease his unusual skipping heartbeat as he waited for San. making sure he wasn’t going to miss a raven-haired male’s arrival, yet determined to subtly ignore him until he calls his name first.

Wooyoung’s strategy on the dinner table was to eat everything while it was hot and tasty—because food was literally the only thing he could enjoy—and be seated there playing with his fingers with his mouth shut. Because nobody was supposed to leave the table unless everyone was filled and done. A rule that existed in this household ever since he remembered and one of the many he detested. 

Every conversation resolved in praising his father or Seonghwa and belittling Wooyoung. Which was another course of tonight, the starter served with how Seonghwa had succeeded in obtaining an internship at the best hospital in Seoul. 

“Seonghwa-yah, I’m so proud of you but oh, we’ll miss you,” Ms. Jung let out a trembling voice as if she was on the verge of crying dramatically.

Seonghwa, the caring son that he was, held his mother’s hand in comfort, “I’ll come back often and call you everyday, okay?”

“He will find a well-bred beautiful future wife in no time at the hospital. What if he’s carrying a baby next time we see him?” Mr. Jung grinned proudly, in which Seonghwa replied with a timid laugh.

Not wanting to see the drama, Wooyoung dropped his head low. He wished he could cut his ears off right there and then, so that he could lose his ability to hear their voices, frustration accelerating the tapping of his impatient feet. 

“Wooyoung,” Mr. Jung initiated. “You’ll be going back to university tomorrow, but make sure you behave.”

Wooyoung sighed and rolled his eyes, tired of hearing and replying to the same old story. A behaviour his father obviously did not approve of, as he raised his voice. “WOOYOUNG! Are you listening!”

“Father, please calm down,” Seonghwa soothed him.

“Seonghwa told me that you were studying unlike usual and I hoped you’d change in a week….” Mr. Jung muttered, exhaling loudly.

What can’t be changed in nineteen years can’t be changed in a week  _ dad _ , Wooyoung mocked internally.

“Do not go to useless parties. Do not hang around people of no good, do not make friends with them,” Mr. Jung insisted.

Those words pricked on Wooyoung’s nerves. “Who’s no good? Someone like me? Someone who doesn’t listen to you? Someone who isn’t Seonghwa?”

“WOOYOUNG-” Mr. Jung stood up furiously, unminding the chair turning around in reaction.

“Wooyoung-ah, of course not!” Seonghwa interrupted, also standing to hold his father’s arm, preventing him from doing anything rash. “Father just wants the best for you. To have a fruitful school life, to have a decent job, to have a beautiful wife, and start a wonderful family….”

“Wooyoung-ah, just try to understand your father, hm?” Ms. Jung added.

Everything sounded ridiculous. It was a strong disdain that ignited in his lower belly, uneasily settling there, flaring up as seconds went by. A mocking laugh escaped his mouth before he knew. 

“The best for  _ me? _ Or is it the best for  _ you? _ ” He raised a fork and pointed the tip to his father, the act so provocative that enraged the old male easily. But before the other could yell something at the top of his head which Wooyoung had bared for _ so _ long, he barked. He had enough.

“Understand  _ you? _ Then let me ask, have any of you tried to understand  _ me? _ What I enjoy, what I hate, what I treasure?  _ Who _ I am?”

Mr. Jung was standing there clenching his fist, trying to restrain his exploding anger, Ms. Jung sat there worriedly cupping her mouth as to what her second son may say, and Seonghwa was standing still, unable to utter a word, his eyes fixed at him.

In that moment, Wooyoung felt like he conquered. Everyone was listening to him. Everyone was paying attention to him. He wished he’d done it sooner—instead of ignoring and rejecting every demand they made, closing him off, sulking that no one understands him. He should’ve spilled every ounce of his piled turbulent emotions to them. 

It was that clawing fear that never left him—the fear that he, perhaps, truly wasn’t good enough. He could let out his true self so vulnerable to the world, and perhaps be shattered to the truth that no one was willing to accept him.

But right now, right here, he felt invincible. Part of the courage was that he had Yeosang. More of the reason was how ‘you’re my hero’ lingered at the back of his brain, heatedly repeating itself, swelling his determination ever so powerfully.

“You don’t choose what’s best for me. That can only be my call.”

═════•°• •°•═════

San was in a lecture when his phone made a clink.

**WOOGIE**

I’M FINALLY OUT OF THAT STINKING PLACE!

Be prepared to go broke cause I’ll be eating like there’s no tomorrow.

**SAN**

Do you take cinema as a restaurant or?

**WOOGIE**

I. Don’t. Care.

He could almost hear Wooyoung’s voice, and an unintentional curve creeped up San’s lips. Wooyoung must be nestling in his a-week-vacant bed, and he’d perhaps attend some lectures or whatnot later. Back to San, who had few lectures today and a part time job pending later on, which meant they’d only see each other at night.

In that week he was away, they called twice, because he was ‘bored to death at home’, and they sent selfies to each other as was a dire request from Wooyoung, which San had it securely saved in his album. Even though it wasn’t that he didn’t hear Wooyoung’s voice or didn’t see his face, but they were only delivered through a cold electronic device, his voice adjusted artificially and his face pixelated, they weren’t the same as experiencing them live. The anticipation tickled San’s heart.

The sky was already in shades of navy, orange closing to horizon blending with purple in between when San took off the cafe, done with his shift. He was walking down the path to the bus station that would take him to the cinema, when his phone melodiously resonated.

Taking his phone out of his back pocket, he shot a glance at the caller and gave a small grunt. Pressing the red button with no hesitation, he tucked it back.

Just when he was about to take a corner, someone grabbed his arm rather harshly.

“Are you ignoring my call?” huffed the man, an inch too close for San’s comfort.

“Why bother asking if you know the answer?” he rolled his eyes at the caller. The man was holding San’s hand up, his grip on his forearm strong. He made an attempt to tear it off, but efforts in vain, his grip only tightened. He demanded. “Let go.”

“You promised a night at the party. You said you’d make it up for ditching me. Why do you keep on rejecting me?”

The man was from Hongjoong’s party, a fuck buddy San promised to spend the night then—only what happened later had turned him into a trivial matter. And it stayed that way.

He could totally make a scene, but the clock was ticking and Wooyoung was waiting. He resolved to brush things off for now, and deal with this shit later. “Because I’m busy,” San said, curving his lips in a false smile.

“I know you just got off your work, and you’re free now,” the guy smirked disgustingly, his breath heavy.

“How are you aware of my schedule?” San’s frowns crease deeper, now shadows quite evident in between.

“Does it matter?”

_ Yes, it fucking matters _ , San cursed under his breath, which probably did not reach this overly excited male’s ears, who looked like he was shot with a dose of adrenaline. The grip was getting tighter, and his other hand snaked around San’s waist. He was unrelenting. Admitting, San closed his eyes.

═════•°• •°•═════

_ This isn’t a date. _

Wooyoung reminded him for the nth time, one of it being when he was troubled unsure of what to wear for the night, stumbling in front of his closet for a good fifteen minutes. He mentally slapped himself for even  _ choosing _ an outfit, it’s not like he was going to a party to hook up with girls, it was just a bro night watching a movie. Yet his hands reached for a fresh white T-shirt and a clean cut denim jacket, that was his favourite piece.

_ This isn't a date. _

He muttered again when he was all prepared after checking the mirror for the tenth time, ready to leave when he realised that it was way too early. Only a child excited for an amusement park would arrive thirty minutes early.

_ This isn't a date. _

Repeating his mantra, he tried to ease his unusual skipping heartbeat as he waited for San. making sure he wasn’t going to miss a raven-haired male’s arrival, yet determined to subtly ignore him until he calls his name first.

But he was running late. Wooyoung checked his phone for every minute passing, but it was silent. 

Jung Wooyoung was an impatient man.  He hated waiting, setting aside whether he himself was punctual or not. The thought that San could be caught up with work flashed his mind, which kept him away from calling and resolved in texting.

**Wooyoung**

Yo

Where you at??

The tapping of his feet became louder as the clock ticked. The first fifteen minutes, Wooyoung was frustrated, thinking of what more the poor man can do for him. The next fifteen minutes, he felt a worry crawl in.  _ It's not like something has happened to him...but what if? _ The fact that he didn't pick up his call wasn't helping.

Right when Wooyoung couldn't sit back and wait anymore, shooting up from the bench to look for San, he saw the man in question approach him hurriedly.

“I'm sorry,” the man let out in between catching a breath. Wooyoung could see how he was out of breath and how a trail of sweat rolled down his neck, but his frustration wasn't ready to cool down.

“Where were you?? I even called you and yet-”

“I'm sorry. I lost my phone,” San quickly replied, pulling Wooyoung's hand to the food stall. "Here, weren't you going to empty my wallet?"

Something was off. San looked like he was in a hurry, more so than Wooyoung. Then he realised that the male was avoiding his eyes, not facing him from the front.

“San, what's wrong?”

“Aren't we already late for the movie? Choose and let's watch,” he chuckled, still refusing to look at him, his eyes falsely glued to the colourful electric board promoting the cinema's highly recommended pineapple flavoured popcorn.

“San!” If he wasn't going to face him, he was going to  _ make _ him. He pulled San's arm and turned him, first meeting his slightly widened eyes, but soon shifted on his right cheek.

“What the-”

Having exposed what he was trying to hide, San looked flustered, turning away only showing his left profile. But Wooyoung's sharp eyes didn't miss how his usual smooth and silky cheek was now slightly swollen, flushed in an unusual colour of purplish red.

Wooyoung didn’t allow San to look away. He cupped his cheek, careful not to squeeze him on the right, and turned to face him. “WHO DID THIS TO YOU!?”

He roared, forgetting he was in a cinema with people around. He couldn’t feel people’s troubled stare. All he could see was San and his painful cheek, through his enraged crimson view.

“No one. I was in a hurry and dumbass me bumped on an electric pole, that’s it,” he replied jokingly, curving his lips as if to say it wasn’t anything serious, but Wooyoung wasn’t buying it—even a nanometre.

“BULLSHIT,” he hissed. “Is it that homophobic jackass from the party? _GOD_ , I knew he needed more beating-”

Wooyoung was about to take off in fury, with a goal of hunting down that guy. He of course didn’t know where he could find him, he didn’t even know his name—but he swore whatever measure needed, he’d chase him down to the end of the world and make him regret he was even born.

“No, it’s not him!” San grabbed Wooyoung’s arm instantly, refusing to let the man pounce on some poor innocent guy. Wooyoung gave San a stare, demanding for an explanation. He wasn’t going to let it slide. San exhaled deeply before he opened his mouth. 

“It was my...uh, friend. Ex, not anymore,” he started. “He wanted to play with me, and I rejected him...quite brutally. And he punched me, the end.”

“You let him punch you? Why didn’t you fight back? Or call me to help you out??”

“Because we promised a movie night, Woo,” San smiled softly. And Wooyoung could only shut up. “I didn’t want to ruin it with a cheap fight.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes, let out a deep sigh trying to release the built up heat, then commented, “well, not anymore.”

San gave a puzzled look. He quickly took San’s hand in his, and a step forward. 

“Treating your injury is the priority.”

═════•°• •°•═════

The two were now settled in the dorm room, seated on Wooyoung’s bed, surrounded by whatever medical supplies Wooyoung had laid his hand on in the convenience store.

“I fucking need to beat up the guy,” Wooyoung growled, pressing a bag of ice on San’s cheek. San winced, but he only pressed further.

“Everything is solved,” San eased. “We won’t see each other again.”

“But-”

“Do you want to be grounded again?”

Wooyoung bit his lip at the line, evident frustration transcending to his action, firmly thrusting the bag on San’s face, almost pushing him away. San let out an  _ ah _ , cowering, but the man was brutal.

“We need to go find your lost phone,” Wooyoung spoke.

“Ah, that,” San swished a rectangular object from his phone and tossed it next to Wooyoung. The entire screen was cracked, imitating a lighting in the night sky. “That guy smashed my phone.”

Yelling, ‘you better cut all the ties!’ as a parting shot. San had saved so many contacts of his  _ buddies _ in that phone, and now that was gone, he didn’t remember anyone’s number. So, yes, the guy proved his point. And for underprivileged San, getting a new phone was a heavy blow—intentional or not.

A hue of red flashed in Wooyoung’s eyes again and San felt anxious. “It was an old phone anyway. About time I changed.”

He glanced at the phone looking like he wanted to fume a word or two, but didn’t. 

“I’m sad that our movie night got cancelled,” San pouted, willfully changing the topic.

The glint in Wooyoung’s eyes faded, replaced with a softness, “we can always go again.”

His touch was now gentler, attentively treating San’s wound—a tender touch as though he was cradling a cat. He took his time—perhaps too much time that San’s eyelids drooped slowly, curtaining his vision in darkness.

He had a long day. And his tightened string had finally cut off, unable to fight the gravity pulling him in slumber.

One of the main reasons San couldn’t sleep without having something or someone in his arms was that he dreams—occasionally, if not often. Those persons that appear are those he refused to see in reality, latching onto his heart unsparingly. Having something in his arms kept him guarded, clutching onto reality assuring him those people were nothing but a dream. He'd never tell. Because he was so determined he'd left them behind with no attachment, but how his oblivion prodded them made him feel no less than weak and wholly disabled.

So when he regains consciousness without a single fragment of those persons, he knows he has slept well, so deeply and soundly. What he felt in his arms wasn’t a soft bouncy object but a solid warm figure. It was one of the two acquainted feelings, yet what he was missing was the heaviness that lingered on his body after spending an appetent night with the latter. What encompassed him was a rather feathery and relieved semblance.

Welcoming morning light in his vision, he sees a man's side profile softly caressed by the exact light. He marvelled at the sight of Wooyoung, recalling the last piece of the night before. How he ended up on Wooyoung’s bed wasn’t inexplicable. What was, however, was how he decided to let him stay on his bed. He could have woken him up, or kicked him down, or slept on San's bed (perhaps sleeping on a bed with a bear plushie wasn't his thing), but he instead decided to let him be.

He woke up gently, careful not to wake the other. Sitting up and glancing down, he studied the features of the man next to him, soundly asleep. The window facing North can only carry what little morning sunlight and beneath that faint ray, the rebellious man looked defenseless, child-like, almost. His sharp brows were now softer, his mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

San reached for Wooyoung's strand of hair to brush it off from his eyes. Warmth slowly permeated in his body. And he knew. This wasn’t love.

Love was what made you feel like you were always at the edge, longing for the other. Love was what made you feel like you were lost, when the other wasn’t there. Love was what made you feel anxious and jittery. Love was unsure, erratic and girdled.

At least, that was all he knew.

═════•°• •°•═════

Although his family have been keen on discouraging him, somehow enthusiasm towards learning English stayed. It was becoming a habit to dry San's hair in return to his help on English assignments, or upcoming end of term exams or studying in general.

"Wooyoung-ah has been improving a lot recently," San said in a tone a mother would, praising a child. He sat well behaved in between Wooyoung's legs, completely defenseless as he entrusted the drying of his hair in the other's hands.

Wooyoung felt a pride tingle in him as he recalled how San widened his eyes at how many ticks he got on the paper the said tutor checked earlier on. He was improving. He thought he hated studying, and he can bet he would never say he loves them in his lifetime, but the literal results showing his building ability and praises made him feel good. He liked that.

He was ruffling the obedient dog-like man's hair, when something on the bed next to him vibrated. It was San's new phone, carelessly thrown on Wooyoung's bed, the screen illuminated which he read as 'XXX hospital'. He stopped the hair dryer from running, and handed the phone to San. "You have a call."

San naturally took his phone over his shoulder. Staring at the phone screen briefly, he quickly tapped the decline button and placed the phone on the floor.

"Done. You can continue," he casually said, tapping Wooyoung's thigh prompting.

Wooyoung felt uneasy. How can a call from a hospital be brushed off so easily? How can it be unimportant? But then again, he didn't feel like it was his place to speak. Right when he reached out for San's glittering dark hair, the phone rang.

"...I think you should get it," Wooyoung suggested. He wished he could see the other's expression but all he got was a faint sigh.

Pressing the green mark lazily, San raised his phone to his ears, letting the other speak, not giving as much as a greeting.

"I quit being her son four years ago," he muttered icily. It was the most rejecting voice Wooyoung's have ever heard from the man.

"For the last time, please stop calling me. It's a waste of time," hissing quickly, he hung up the call, turning off the system completely.

"Is everything okay? ...Is your mother unwell?" Wooyoung blurted, not being able to hold back anymore.

San turned his head. Wooyoung wanted to see San's face. He wanted to know what he felt. He wanted to understand what went through him. But all he received was the most outward mask plastered on San.

"Woo, there's nothing you should worry about," although his tone was soft, his well-mannered smile spoke veto.

Wooyoung loved San's smile. When he narrowed his eyes, creasing in a line, his lips curving in crescent imprinting dimples on his cheeks. It was one that made his heart skip and spark warmth at the same time. It was one he wished he could see more, causing him to say some silly things if it meant for that. 

But this smile he was seeing, was building a wall between them manifested raw rejection, as if they were strangers. 

“I just want to be your help,”  _ like you did, back when I stood up for myself in front of my parents _ . Of course San didn’t know, but it nestled close in Wooyoung’s heart as his anchor. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Anything?” San interrupted, smirking sardonically, his eyes challenging. “Then will you be my hug pillow?”

“...What?”

“I feel very lonely now. And I need physical human touch.”

He was trying to push him away. He was clearly drawing a border saying ‘forbidden to step in’, by throwing things Wooyoung would refuse to do. And that if he can’t do as much, he has no right to interfere. However, without much thought, Wooyoung answered boldly, “sure.”

This time, San was caught off guard. He probably guessed he’d hear a word of refusal, and yet Wooyoung looked back at him, his eyes fixed and honest.

No matter how much San searched for it, there was only one answer—he’d sleep with San. If that meant him feeling better in any way, if that was what he could do, he would. 

After a long pause, San finally said, “never mind. I don’t want to take advantage of the situation.” He waved his hand and added in a faint smile, “I’ll just go to someone else’s room. You can lock the door cause I won’t come back.”

With that brief remark, the man disappeared behind the wooden door, leaving the sound of door closing echoing in Wooyoung’s head. His arm reaching out fell in the middle, losing it’s undetermined purpose. He was just a roommate, and perhaps a friend. And a relationship with such a label had no right to stop him from going to someone else, convincing him to stay with him, just because his stomach churned with some unknown emotion. 

If it meant for his well-being, then who was he, a mere friend, to suggest anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By sleep, it literally means sleeping side by side as a hug pillow. Nothing rated here...yet /insertsmugface/  
> oh and San has saved Wooyoung as 'WOOGIE' on his phone, as in; WOOyoung+corGI+E (optional)  
> do you see the similarity? yay or nay.


	4. “This is enough.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...I told you I won’t be back,” San mumbled, feeling a little uneasy.
> 
> “But you did come back,” Wooyoung replied, shifting his body into a sleeping position.

The commonly held belief of San, for whoever knew him, was the he was a proud gay, and an open gay, who wasn’t scared of admitting who he was and had no trouble in doing so. Many closets envied that part of San, some angry that he was blessed for being accepted by his people while they weren’t.

But that was a misunderstanding—at least, it wasn't plain sailing to get to where he is now. Ironically, the boat, although not grandiose and extravagant, appeared cozy and reliable to him. That was until he realised that under the thin layer of wood, was a small crack hidden, growing in its scale as water leaked in, helplessly sinking to the murky sea.

He only had his mother. That was the only family he knew, and unlike what the media portrays or what his classmates say, having been brought up by a single-mother fulfilled his life. He never felt the need of a male figure in his family.

“Good job San-ah! Mummy is proud of you!” she’d say, creasing her eyes in a thin line, smiling brightly that her gummy was also showing, brushing her son’s head endlessly as he scored high grades in studies, or drew well in art class, or helped his friends out...literally anything and everything. He was smart and handsome—he was her proud son. She worked hard to feed him, and he did everything to make his mother happy. Life was complete with the two.

Yet things change when puberty kicks in. In secondary school, boys started talking about girls.

“Who do you think is the prettiest in our class?”

“Who would you date?”

“Let’s bet who gets to kiss her!”

Suddenly both sexes became sexually aware, and San, surrounded by his male friends became aware of how their interest circled around the opposite sex. 

“Yo, San, who do you like?”

He felt strange. He was more interested in talking about soap opera last night than girls’ physical development. No, if he were to be absolutely honest, the one who fluttered his heart almost like how boys described girls do, was—he glanced at his male friend once, but shifted his eyes back to the questioner. Back then, he had no idea what this feeling was or how he was supposed to take them. But he was quick-witted to know this wasn’t ordinary and wasn’t what others expected to hear.

“Um...I’m not sure. They are all pretty,” he chuckled stiffly.

“Look at this womaniser! Is this why girls talk about San the most?” his friend tutted his tongue in frustration, as jealousy coated his voice.

His friend's words echoed as he prodded on his way back home absentmindedly. Why did he not feel the way others were feeling? Was he weird? Was he abnormal? He suddenly felt like he was the only odd person in this entire world, lonely, devastated, empty. His early awakening muddled him, and he wanted one person—yes, only one was enough to tell him he wasn’t abnormal, and he’d be okay.

He decided to ask his mother, his last refuge, and that was the biggest mistake of his life.

“Mum? Can I ask you something?” he started, standing next to his mother washing dishes, receiving the plates to wipe the droplets off.

“Of course, San-ah. Anything,” his mother replied in a soft voice, her usual tone soothing his heart.

“Recently, I feel strange when my friends talk about girls.”

“How so?”

“They are always talking about who’s pretty and who’s attractive and who’s curvy and all that.”

“Oh, boys will be boys,” his mother chuckled, her hands kept busy washing.

“But I don’t feel that way for girls...I think I feel that way for boys,” he let it out, the next line exhaled in slight anxiety. “I’m not weird, right?”

It was the sound of a plate falling in the sink that alarmed San something was wrong. 

“Mum-” “SAN!” 

His mother grabbed the young boy’s arms by her hands, looking into his eyes—and San read ‘heartbroken’. 

“I’m-I’m such a bad mother for not realising you were going through such trouble...don’t worry San, you’ll be fine. We’ll go see people who can guide you to the right direction, okay? You’ll be fine, we can get through this.” She then tightly hugged the son in her arms, stroking his back recurrently with her hands full of soap bubbles—as if to cleanse San’s sin.

Was he supposed to be worried? Was he walking in the wrong direction? Was he not fine? Was he supposed to _get through_ this?

San felt his heart crack—and the pieces falling off little by little.

What had been added to young boy's busy school life was to talk to 'people who guide to the right direction' weekly. The therapist and the priest both told him that 'he was only confused' and that 'he will soon find the right path'. The three adults who knew of his secret said the same thing, and he concluded that he was indeed wrong. The reality that he was an unacceptable heretic to the world bit him, gnawed him, chewed him. The more he heard those pitiful, forgiving yet unforgiving words, the more they clawed on him, enclosing him entirely in the pitch dark that confined him as he beat himself being a failure.

He was growing numb. His mother’s soothing voice and smile that once was his haven had become a hellhole. 

That was when he met Jeong Yunho—a purely coincidental soul that had thundered his way into his heart. 

Their first encounter was nothing out of the ordinary; a classmate in high school who San had to share a textbook with in that one class, only because he was sitting next to him. He could still remember how Yunho smiled bashfully, stroking the back of his neck, asking for permission to share a book, on the first day of class—a memory San wanted to erase so painfully yet decided to stay there stubbornly.

The natural born cheerfulness and dorkiness of him was hard to dislike, and in no time he was the popular kid in class, partially in the grade, too. His laugh was infectious, and San found himself smiling more and more around him, as though he found a beacon of light had seeped in through his confined dark cell.

Yet as he tried to crawl towards the light, towards the exit, a black claw latched on his ankle that never let him go. A deep shrill voice whispered; _You can never like Yunho. It is wrong._

"A group of us is going bowling this Sunday. Why don't you come?"

One day in school, Yunho asked San. After his confession to his mother, he was to report his every activity to her. She’d only allow going out with a friend if there was a female figure in the group, which was daunting. Added with the therapy sessions occupying his time, it was only natural he had grown distant from his friends.

"I can't…I have to go to church," San mumbled.

"Didn't know you were a church boy," Yunho blinked, amused to hear something new about San. "After that? We could hang out."

"I need to go somewhere else…."

"Where?"

He contemplated for a second before he murmured, "...therapy."

It was such a hushed tone as though a sound of mosquito flying, but Yunho seemed to be keen on every single detail of San.

"Therapy?" He prompted, expecting further details to follow, but that was all about San was going to expose as he sealed his lips tightly. Yunho figured, and opened his mouth instead.

"We can hang out after that if you want. I just want to see you."

San's heart did not know how to rest when Yunho was around, and it seemed worse today. He wondered why he was so interested in him. No matter how one far fetched, the current him couldn't be called cheerful or fun to be around, he knew how he was carrying a depressed and dreary air. With Yunho's circle of friends, he could be around anyone who was at the top of the pyramid, and yet San had witnessed Yunho declining those top tier’s offers to stay with him a couple of times. He truly had no clue what he was expecting from him—only he somehow felt Yunho’s soft gaze stuck with him whenever he laughed, San never wanted to acknowledge.

If anyone were to walk behind San, they’d bump into his back, overtake him while spitting a curse word or two. The boy was walking incredibly fast one moment, the next moment standing still like a rock, and also stepping back slightly at some point. If anyone were to overtake him and see his face, they’d practically see ‘messed’ written all over his face displayed by his furrowed eyebrows and his teeth lightly biting on his finger.

Yunho texted him saying he’d be waiting for him in the nearby park. He also added there was something he wanted to tell him. According to adults teaching, he probably wasn’t supposed to meet Yunho, especially when his heart was rocking like a boat in the middle of the ocean. But he probably had already made up his mind when he decided to end the therapy quicker than usual, by not giving the therapist a word. 

Yunho was there; in the park, tossing a rugged basketball to the ring. The sky was getting dimmer, painted in hue of orange, a shade brighter than the old grimy ball. Standing at a distance, San admired the tall boy casted under orange light, his face rosier than usual from the activity.

“San!” he noticed the other immediately and approached, throwing the ball away.

“Whose ball is that?”

“I just found it there,” he shrugged.

Sitting on the swing, San swayed his legs slightly and asked the boy standing next to him, helping the motion. “You wanted to talk?”

“Mn,” Yunho nodded hesitantly. Jeong Yunho was a bright person who was always clear to the point, and it wasn’t usual to see him giving a vague reaction. This side of him was enough to make San nervous. He waited. He patiently waited. Truth be told, it was more like his throat was squeezed that he couldn’t utter a word.

Almost when San forgot how to breathe normally, Yunho finally breathed out.

“I like you.”

San felt his heart stop. He swallowed once, then attempted to ease his breath before he could faintly reply, “I like you too...you’re a good friend.”

“No, San,” Yunho hushed. San’s instant thought was that he shouldn’t be listening to whatever he was going to say. He knew those words would easily break the chain that kept him leashed to the _sane_ place, that his mother so desperately wished. That the priest and therapist demanded him to stay. But he couldn’t move as if he was stoned there.

“I like you in a way I want to touch you. In a way I want to kiss you. In a way I want your eyes to reflect only me.” 

San was frozen there for a long time, his finger not even a flinch while his heart was busily pounding against his chest. 

“San...?” 

“It’s wrong!” he blurted, standing up vigorously as the wooden chair swung in the air. He was standing at the edge of a hill. His heart swayed as that of a swing, and his finger trembled as that of a drill. He was scared. “It’s wrong...it’s wrong to like the same gender. A man can only like a woman, and a woman a man!”

A pain flashed in Yunho’s eyes, but San, who didn’t dare look at him, failed to see.

“Who said so?”

“My mother, the priest, the therapist...all the adults and the entire world.” San felt his heart crumbling down as he repeated the words he had recurrently heard for the past few years of his life. “They told me it’s wrong. That it’s against the world’s rule. The laws of nature. God's will.”

_They told me over and over again. As if I, who couldn’t change who I am, was a sinner who wasn’t supposed to exist in the world._

“What’s wrong with a person liking a person?”

Yunho’s voice turned deeper than the nightfall. San flinched, but he still couldn’t raise his eyes to see the tall boy.

“San, we are both persons. If someone dare tell me I can’t like you, for who you are, then they are fucking wrong.”

His growl turned into something softer, fonder. "It's not what others say or think. What matters is how _you_ feel, San...Do you like me?"

San had long been crouching in a deep dark pit. With no hint of light, he believed there was no exit. But every hole needed an entrance. Of which he took all this while to realise it was, likewise, an exit. All he needed was a reliable hand to pull him up the darkest pit. 

“I-”

The following events were like surging waves.

With Yunho along, he declared his sexuality to his mother and confessed his bottled up feelings. Listening to her wailing and lamenting of what wrong she has done to raise such a _pitiful child_ in the background, San packed the basic needs of his belongings and left the house. He started living in Yunho’s house, which almost felt like it was owned by two people with his parents always away on business trips.

San worked hard to earn money to be independent, and studied hard to get to the college, earning a scholarship. Soon San and Yunho moved into the college dorm, room 403. 

Yunho promised he’d stick with San, and urged him to leave the toxic house and his toxic mother. And San believed him. Ridding his neglecting mother, his childhood memory—everything he had, to live with Yunho. With him, he could finally breathe. He could finally let sunlight shower him. He could finally embrace who he truly was. 

He got several calls from his mother which he never picked. He got numerous texts from his mother which he seldom read and never replied. 

If there was one thing that made him want to go back home was Shiber, his dog plushie acquainted for as long as he can remember that he had forgotten to bring along. San had always had problems sleeping, and Shiber was his haven. Now that he had Yunho, he didn’t face as much trouble but there were times he’d mull over that fluffy, squishable object.

One day, coming back from the lecture he had found something unusual lying on his bed.

“En?”

It was a rather big bear plushie. Not giving it a deep thought, he instantly grabbed it and hugged it—it was comfortable and fitting. A smile naturally crept on his face.

“You like it?” 

“Yunho!”

San probably was too busy studying this new friend of his, that he didn’t notice someone else stepping in the room. It was his boyfriend looking down at him fondly, as if to say the view of his boyfriend hugging a plushie is the most adorable thing in the world.

“You got this for me?” 

“Yes. So that you could stop whining over Shiber,” Yunho teased, taking a seat next to San.

“I like it,” San smiled, tucking plushie to the side then wrapping his arms around Yunho.

“My pleasure,” he smiled back in that usual dog-like friendliness, which never failed to soften San’s heart. And at such times he couldn’t really hold back his urge. He pulled the man closer, placing a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

Yunho blinked at the sudden affection, but it was only a second before he leaned in, asking for more.

But San learnt that happiness never lasts. No matter how much you try, no matter how much you desperately wish to keep—no, the more you wanted it to last, the more likely it wouldn’t. 

“What the fuck Hongjoong??”

Right, that happened in Hongjoong’s party, too. So many dramas happen in that party of his and that probably is why people would consider it barbaric and well, unholy. 

San met Hongjoong in college, and soon grew close due to their musical preference. The beginning might have been totally simple, but there was this one particular episode that made him grow really fond of him.

It was when Hongjoong dropped by San’s dorm to borrow one of his CDs. They would usually meet outside, but San had this CD he wanted Hongjoong to hear as soon as possible. They were both chatting in the room about the artist and songs on the bed (because there’s nowhere else to sit), when the door opened and Yunho returned.

“Hey,” San smiled instantly at his face. But Yunho’s face looked darker, his eyes fixed on the man next to him. “Oh, this is Kim Hongjoong. The one I used to tell you about.”

Hongjoong stood up and greeted, raising his hand for a handshake. Which Yunho accepted, but soon later he went and sat next to San, snaking his arm around his waist securely.

“What are you guys doing?”

“I was just lending him my CD.”

San didn’t sense anything, but Hongjoong was rather sharp to catch the atmosphere. “Are you two dating?”

The question stiffened San. Although they had been friends for a good amount of time to warm up, San never talked about his sexuality. Back then, he was still conscious and hostile of how other people would judge him. 

San managed to ask bitterly, “do you care?”

The response he got from Hongjoong was rather surprising. He laughed at San’s attitude, and simply said, “no, as long as you’re Choi San who’d lend me this CD.”

 _I’m leaving_ , he said, walking out of the room waving the CD.

San had never met a person who didn’t give any shit about his sexual preference, and was dumbfounded. But he meant no lie with his words as he stayed with San like nothing had changed. San would sometimes drop Yunho’s name and either praise or complain, which Hongjoong listened without fretting, sometimes also giving advice. He felt like he had finally found a friend who could accept him for who he was—a true friend.

Not much time was needed before San started going to Hongjoong’s party, bringing Yunho along. They’d often dance, indulge in Hongjoong’s music and chat over free alcohol.

That day too, was the same. San was only coming back from the toilet wondering if he had too many drinks, and wasn’t expecting to see a sudden crowd forming around a scene.

Curious, he approached and popped his head up and saw Hongjoong fuming with his fist clenched, standing tall before a man who had fallen on his bottom, his hand cupping his left cheek. And that man was none other than Jeong Yunho.

“YUNHO?”

San hurriedly weaved through the crowd and knelt in front of the dazed man. His cheek was red and swollen, and even without seeing the actual moment, anybody could deduce that he was punched by the raging Hongjoong.

“What the fuck Hongjoong??” San snapped back at the questioned man, holding Yunho in his arms as if to protect him from any other harm. “Do you want to explain?”

San waited for a reply, but all he could hear was Hongjoong’s heavy breathing. His eyes wavered, contemplating hard on whether he was supposed to reveal or not, but enraged San couldn’t see.

“HONG-”

The interrogating tone was interrupted by the man in his arms. “San, let’s just go....”

He wasn’t convinced or satisfied—he wanted to know what happened and he wanted Hongjoong to apologise. But Yunho nudged him and he hesitantly stood up, helping the other up too.

Walking out side by side, San gave Hongjoong a glare walking past him, when he mumbled, “he doesn’t deserve you, San. Trust me.”

San scoffed at his remark, and didn’t take it seriously. He should have.

Recently Yunho had been going out a lot with his new found friend Song Mingi and his company. San wasn’t quite comfortable with the fact that Mingi was quite well-known on the down side—a delinquent. The story goes that Yunho and Mingi shared a class in which they were assigned in one group, but being the boorish man, Mingi wasn’t attending classes much less care about projects. Yunho, being the responsible man he was, he couldn’t not care. And that was how Yunho started taking care of Mingi and how they now seemed to be friends. 

The discomfort derived from hearing all the crummy gossip about Mingi, but San never tried mentioning it to Yunho. He knew it was wrong to drink in the gossip as they were served, because he was once the very victim of it. He also knew that Yunho was that person who wouldn’t be able to brush off the trouble lying before him, being the caring man he was and that was one of the many things he loved about him.

That day San had a night shift, but the work unexpectedly finished early, releasing three hours before. He headed back to the dorm lazily, guessing Yunho wouldn’t be there as he said he’d be going out with Mingi’s group tonight.

So the surprise he felt when the door was open slightly was imaginable. He felt a happiness surge, thinking Yunho was back early too, but he halted pushing the door when he heard an unfamiliar voice tangled with the very familiar voice.

“S-stop….” It was Yunho’s voice. It was heavier and slurred, more than usual—he was probably drunk.

“I thought...you agreed?” the unfamiliar voice mumbled. A tone longer on the vowels, probably wasted as well.

“Yes...but I’m dating San...this is wrong.”

San felt his heart beat faster. He felt an unknown lump swelling in his throat as his fists clenched unconsciously.

The other laughed frantically. Not knowing when to stop.

“Didn’t we kiss that night at Hongjoong’s party? Isn’t it too late to act all innocent?”

“Mingi….”

San’s heart stopped. His ears were numb. He believed he heard wrong. He wished he did. But as the door creaked open, it revealed the truth lying in the room, brutally thrusting him with pain; two tall men on one bed, entangled, deeply indulged in each other’s lips.

San heard the cracking of his heart.

“S-SAN!!”

Yunho noticed a figure standing at the threshold, a little too late to shove off the man on top for a disguise.

“Hi, San! Nice to meet you,” the tall man with falcon eyes—Mingi waved his hand cheerfully, then dropped shamelessly. “Do you mind sharing your boyfriend?”

He should've lashed out on such a blatant request. But he felt so broken, so torn, that he couldn't help but look at Yunho in hollow eyes.

"San, San, I can explain!" Yunho yelled desperately, attempting to stand up, removing the other's hold on him. But what could he even? The view was an irreversible truth of betrayal. 

San lost it when Mingi caught the tripping Yunho in his arms, who was wobbling his way to San. 

"GET OUT."

"San-"

"GET OUT!!"

Yunho stood there, helplessly gazing at San, who had no intention of looking back at who once was his blessing. 

_San_ , he whispered under his shaky breath, no longer reaching his favourite person's ears.

In that moment of what felt like a flash and an eternity, Mingi was the first to move out of the room, dragging Yunho who was unable to move on his own. Not until the last moment of the door closing did Yunho look away from San, his pile of words stuck in his throat, looking for a way to escape.

But now San was alone. Alone in a room he shared his favourite memories with his loved person, now broken. How many times did Yunho invite Mingi in this room? How many times did he betray him? How many times did he—in what intensity?

The room suddenly looked like a foreign place, no longer welcoming in his eyes. He could only crouch down on the spot, too weak on his knees to step any further. He wanted to cry, but what escaped his mouth was a dry laughter.

San threw away everything he had to be with Yunho—his mother, his friends, his past life. He recklessly trusted his entire being and soul on this one person, convinced that handing over his everything to this person was the most definite path to happiness—too blinded to realise he also gave the authority to crush it completely into pieces, leading him to unswerving despair.

What he couldn’t take was the fact that he couldn’t live with Yunho, but the other easily found someone else. Perhaps San was pitiful in his eyes, that he had fed him with the need of protection. And Jeong Yunho was kind— _too kind_ , that now he found someone else he needed to care for.

Chaotic pain stabbed his heart recurrently—it must be imaginary—but the bleeding felt too real to ignore. He was torn, broken, crushed. Curving up, hugging his legs, he let out a muffled cry, in the midst of a not so familiar room anymore.

Later, he heard that Hongjoong smacked Yunho down because he found him kissing Mingi drunk, he also heard some speculation saying Yunho perhaps was jealous that San was busy spending his time with Hongjoong—the most idiotic excuse, San thought—but truth didn’t matter anymore.

He simply swore he’d never let anyone slip in his heart again. Never let anyone hold his heart. Because his unamended heart needn’t be broken anymore. It was too painful. And once was enough.

San was mindlessly cruising around the street while all the past memories flooded in. Two people that haunted him in his dreams—his mother and Jeong Yunho. Even when he got a call from a hospital saying his mother was ill and had to be hospitalised for long, for whatever reason he didn’t care, asking her son to visit her, he didn’t bother. He cut ties with both of them, he was sure of it, but he felt defeated as they still evidently latched onto his heart unsparingly.

Just like he announced to Wooyoung, he did think of going to bed with some random _friend_ of his, but somehow while strolling, as the night breeze caressed his cheeks, it blew away that intention. He didn’t feel like it. He checked the time that said three a.m., and he’d guessed that his roommate must be asleep by now, so he could just sneak into the room.

And so he didn’t expect for the door to be unlocked, much less seeing Wooyoung sitting up on his bed, illuminated by a dim bedside lamp.

“...I told you I won’t be back,” San mumbled, feeling a little uneasy.

“But you did come back,” Wooyoung replied, shifting his body into a sleeping position.

Feeling awkward, San pursed his lips and walked towards his bed, not knowing what exactly to say, he mumbled, “good night.”

“Not there, here.”

San turned his head to the owner of the sleepy voice, who was raising a blanket, beneath it, his side, vacant enough for one more person to fit in. To say the least, he was baffled. 

“What?”

“Didn’t you say you can’t sleep without sleeping with someone?”

“I did. But-”

“Hurry! It’s three in the morning for crying out loud. You don’t want to keep me awake,” Wooyoung nagged, waving his raised blanket impatiently. Still puzzled, San decided to follow his order. 

The other day when they slept together, San only saw his sleeping side profile in the morning as he was facing the ceiling. But now things were entirely different. The man was conscious, the room was dark with a faint light, and the man was facing him. San could count his eyelashes, feel his rhythmic breath and see how the tip of his ear turned slightly pink.

Wooyoung was nervous—San could easily guess. His body was so stiff, his eyes looking everywhere but San, his hands weirdly straight on his side. Jung Wooyoung was clearly not used to it, and San felt warmth bubble inside.

Wooyoung finally gave up on acting cool and asked, “ho-how do I do this?” 

Normally, San would bury his face on the other’s crook of the neck and have his arms wrapped on his waist or clutching on his back, and the other would do the same. But to ask this from this poor clueless puppy in front of him was kind of brutal.

He instead took Wooyoung’s hand, laced his fingers and placed them in between their faces.

He smiled softly, “this is enough.”

That night San slept without a shadow of the two people. He wasn’t sure if he even dreamt—he was sure though, that it was a bliss. He doubted he ever felt so safe, so relieved, so warm with someone else. And that feeling only solidified as he opened his eyes to greet the defenseless sleeping man, his arm unconsciously over San’s shoulder, sprouting warmth in him.

From that day onwards, San stopped sauntering over to another place at night. That guy who broke San’s phone’s wish did come true in the end—he wasn’t interested in his _friends_ anymore, his purple blisters on his smooth canvas disappearing completely. The reason was obvious; as bizarre as it sounded, San shared a bed with Wooyoung as much as he did with Kuma. 

San was (or used to be) a wanton, but he wasn’t emotionless, and he definitely wasn’t ignorant. 

He’d hear Wooyoung praising girls passing by. He’d see him hugging Yeosang playfully. He’d sometimes be brushed off by him depending on his mood. And when every one of those things bit on San’s heart, it only drew back a curtain on the fact that he had fallen for him.

_Falling for a straight guy?_

_Falling for a roommate?_

San wanted to laugh at how pathetic he was. He swore he’d never love someone again, never let anyone rule over his heart. But all effort in vain, with all the possible easy choices he had, he chose—no, he had to surrender rather forcefully to none other than his roommate, the last person he wanted to resolve.

Too little too late for drawing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> San has finally realised his feelings! hip hip hooray!  
> now we need the other end to do the same...  
> btw I'm sorry Yunho and Mingi ily ily ily ily ily ily ily


	5. “I broke the rule.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m leaving.”
> 
> “Where are you going?” Yeosang asked, grabbing the frustrated man’s arm.
> 
> “To my dorm, he could be back.”
> 
> “He could be. With Yunho. Having sex?”

It was another day of San helping Wooyoung out with his English assignments when the phone on the desk vibrated. _‘No. 3’_ illuminated the screen, and Wooyoung decided to ignore it at a glance.

“Aren’t you going to take it?” San asked, eyeing Wooyoung’s phone busily ringing.

“Ignore it,” he groaned, busily moving his pen on the paper scribbling what he didn’t know.

“You made me take a call back then,” San snickered. “It’s your turn.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at San who walked towards his bed, relaxing, who must have resolved in not helping him out anymore if he weren’t to take that bloody call. Sliding that green illustration, he placed his phone next to his ear.

“Hello? Woo?” It was Seonghwa. 

Wooyoung had his family’s number registered in his phone (the main purpose of it was to ignore them), his father as ‘No. 1’, his mother as ‘No.2’ and his brother as ‘No. 3’. Those three people he’d be willing to avoid as much as possible.

Giving back just a word or two, Wooyoung ended the call.

“That quick?”

“Choi San,” Wooyoung turned his head to the man tilting his head. “You’re coming with me.”

“En?”

The three met at the quiet area of the dorm’s garden. Seonghwa had suddenly come to visit Wooyoung, saying there was something he wanted to talk about. He could’ve just ignored and chased him away, but somehow he felt okay—under one condition; to have San by his side. He briefly explained that he wasn’t on good terms with his family and that was why he started living in the dorm. The clueless man nodded, not prying further. 

“Woo,” Seonghwa smiled in relief seeing the face of his brother, clearly worried that he might not show up. His smile soon turned into a questioning face at the figure next to Wooyoung.

“This is Choi San, my roommate,” Wooyoung introduced briefly, in which San greeted him with a smile.

“Hi San, I’m Seonghwa, Wooyoung’s brother,” like the good favourable man he was, Seonghwa soon turned his face into a friendly smile and shook San’s hand.

He then mumbled only to Wooyoung, “um, Woo, this is kind of a private matter….”

“I know,” he replied unbothered, and Seonghwa understood that he wasn’t going to listen without San.

“I’m sorry for what happened the other day,” Seonghwa started. 

Wooyoung pretty much knew what was coming and only replied with a snicker. But what followed was a rather surprise to him.

“Your words made me realise how we have neglected you. How we didn’t try to see you for who you are, but pushing our ideal upon you. I hope it’s not too late for me to realise my mistakes.”

Wooyoung looked into Seonghwa’s eyes to see if this was another show they were pulling to have him under their control, but all he could see was genuine regret. He felt conflicted and agitated, to the point he reached for San’s hand unknowingly, clutching it for assurance.

“...What made you think that way?”

“It’s just what you told us the other day. It made me realise how much I didn’t know you...even though you are my brother,” Seonghwa smiled defeatedly. “It also cleared the fog in my mind—and made me realise that I was lying to myself all this while, because I was scared of my parents. And because I was scared of society’s judgement.”

“What lie?”

“That I wanted a standardised family; a beautiful wife and two children.”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“It’s not that—I’m just,” he breathed, looking conflicted on whether to continue but hesitantly said, “asexual.”

Wooyoung furrowed his eyebrows at an unfamiliar term. 

“Asexual?”

“Meaning he’s not sexually attracted to someone,” San explained. 

Seonghwa bit his lip. “...Yes, I can’t make a family.”

Wooyoung was confused. Back in the days, he had seen Seonghwa dating a number of girls. Although if he were to recall, he did find it strange that none of his relationships lasted long. He probably was in high demand with his looks and his nature, but perhaps this could’ve been the reason. 

“I tried dating people. And even though I am capable of being romantically attracted to them, no matter how much I tried I just couldn’t-” Seonghwa broke off, his breath shaky.

Wooyoung understood. Although he personally didn’t give a damn about his brother’s sexuality or his future life, to have lived in that household where they established their beliefs over abominably stereotypical ground of ‘ideal human life’, which Wooyoung had always been a victim, Seonghwa probably felt suffocated, drowned, and strangled, trying to live up to their expectation but in the process denying who he truly was, choking himself.

Wooyoung barely survived revolting against those outdated people, and could only imagine his brother’s twenty years of struggle being under that wing.

“You...Woo, you gave me the strength to accept who I truly am,” Seonghwa, who looked fragile a moment ago, had now a small flame inside those orbs—newly lit, yet to grow, and never to fade. “I’m sorry for who I was, and thank you.”

Wooyoung didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t easy for him to forget the nineteen years of betrayal he had received from him. But he wasn’t heartless not to feel the genuine regret in the man’s voice. He felt his hands gripped tighter—San was reassuring him that he was there, and now he could breathe.

“I’ve already told my parents. It was a rough ride, but they’ll have to accept it sooner or later,” Seonghwa said. Slinging his bag strap on his shoulder, he stood up. “I need to catch my bus to head to Seoul now. Thanks for hearing me out, the two of you,” Seonghwa smiled, glancing at the two boys holding their hands. 

He took few steps, hesitated before he added, “...Woo, I hope you could give our parents some time...and a chance to forgive.”

Wooyoung watched as his brother walked away. He could feel from San’s stare and his grip that he was urging him to say something. He wanted to. But didn’t know the right words. In the end, he yelled, “hyung! Hwaiting!” at his back, in which Seonghwa replied with a waving hand.

He never turned back, so Wooyoung will never find out how a smile tugged on Seonghwa’s lips, as tears brimmed on his eyes—because those short words meant so much to him.

The two boys walked back to their room, not realising they had their hands still connected.

“Thanks for coming along,” Wooyoung mumbled.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I hope I wasn’t intervening in family matters.”

“I wanted you to be there.”

Only after the words left his mouth did Wooyoung realised it sounded too intimate, as if San were his boyfriend. But that was nothing but his true feelings. Somehow with San, he could breathe easily. He could become braver and stronger. He could be who he was, and feel safe. He felt like he could fight anything if he were by his side. It was a strange feeling, but it had built its firmness as days went by.

Pursing his lips, he glanced at the man walking next to him, earning a thump in his heart as he saw San replying with a soft smile.

“By the way,” San prompted. “Your brother is hot, you know?”

Wooyoung felt a sudden need to stitch the taller’s mouth. He felt a bitterness spark in his heart, and chided with a new word he had just learned. “He’s asexual.” 

“Regrettable,” San chuckled, ignorant to how his unkempt words made Wooyoung sway.

“Hongjoong’s party, tonight.”

Yeosang gave a doubtful look at the blonde man who had just dropped those words out of the blue. It was after English class, having lunch in the cafeteria with his good old friend as per usual.

“What for?”

“To look for a pretty girl who could light up my campus life of course!” Wooyoung exclaimed excitedly, clutching the box juice in his hand too tight, risking the content to spill.

“I thought you didn’t need it anymore,” Yeosang said sardonically.

Frowning at how his friend was treating him, Wooyoung asked, “why?”

After munching a scoop of rice, downing it with a kimchi stew unhurriedly, Yeosang asked in return, “don’t you know the rumour going around recently?”

Wooyoung had no clue what that had to do with this matter, but he pulled a guess. “That Hongjoong is looking for a singer for his new track? And that so many people are auditioning but he’s satisfied with none?”

“No, dumbshell,” he shoved Wooyoung’s guessing ever so easily, then dropped his voice lower and confessed, “it’s about Choi San.”

“San?” with a sudden mention of his roommate, Wooyoung was literally thrown in a maze not knowing where this conversation was going.

“That he’s no longer a wanton, as he found a new lover. His _friends_ have been talking out loud that he hasn’t been coming by recently, and having fun betting on how long it’s going to last.”

 _New lover._ Those words somehow made Wooyoung feel uneasy. Sure, San hasn’t been going out recently and had stayed in the dorm room every night—whether it be on his own bed, hugging Kuma, or on Wooyoung’s bed, hugging the other male. Which he wasn’t planning to tell Yeosang, his best friend, scared of his judgemental looks.

“...And so? What does that have to do with me and my love life?”

“Because that new lover is supposedly called _Jung fucking Wooyoung!_ ”

“WHAT??” The surprise was real. He finally gripped his juice too tight, spluttering the orange liquid on the cheap white table of the cafeteria. Yeosang gave an eye roll at the mess.

“A gay man who can’t sleep without _sleeping_ with someone, is now stuck in his dorm room, with another man. It’s pretty solid I’d say.”

“That’s ridiculous! We are nothing like that!” Wooyoung fumed, his cheeks now burning red. He was sure it was because he was angry at the blasphemous accusation—but one could argue he looked embarrassed and shy with the truth revealed.

“The majority disagrees,” Yeosang shrugged.

“Then I need to prove it,” Wooyoung made a conviction.

The blasting music was shaking the room as well as party goers inside as usual. This party apparently had a new motive of finding a potential singer for Hongjoong, which made the musical genius the person in the spotlight more than usual, but that was the least of Wooyoung’s concern. 

He needed to shatter that ridiculous rumour. And to make a move in the party packed with loud university students sounded like the right place. 

“Hey,” he approached a girl seated alone, looking bored scrolling through her phone screen.

She gave a glance up at the blonde man, polished more for the occasion and mused, “Hey, Jung Wooyoung? Right?”

“Oh, you know me?”

“Why, you’re one famous guy on our campus,” her chuckle was implied, but Wooyoung decided to ignore whatever the underlying meaning was.

“How flattering,” he plastered a favourable smile, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

“So, what brings you to me?” she gave a teasing look, leaning on her palm as she placed her elbow on her crossed legs.

“Is it wrong if I wanted to talk to a beautiful lady?” Wooyoung gave back a smirk.

“How flattering,” she laughed. “Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. So that rumour really was travelling around the campus without his consent.

“I’m not dating anyone,” he forcefully pulled a smile.

“But you and Choi San,” she took a sip of a strong liquor that she had in her left hand before she continued, “I mean I don’t blame you. Who wouldn’t want to date him? It’s a shame he’s gay-”

“I’M NOT GAY!”

Wooyoung’s exclaim had startled the girl next to him. Noticing, he soon gained back his composure and followed, “I swear to you I’m straight. And that’s why I’m making a move on you.”

She stared at him for a couple of minutes before she tugged a seductive smile, leaning in, whispering in his ears, “then prove it.”

The next second they connected their lips. Wooyoung could taste a strong liquor on her tongue, submerging him in the moment—the moment he wanted. The moment he needed. The moment he craved for.

Before he lost himself completely to the gravity of San.

═════•°• •°•═════

San got a call from Hongjoong that day, asking him to come to the party and help him sort out the auditioners. He didn’t mind, especially when the older one mentioned pocket money for the work. San guided the expectants the studio allocated in Hongjoong’s house (rich, you see) only to end up with Hongjoong’s dropped shoulders to find no one impressive. 

He was then pulled into the drinking whining session with him, complaining how he’d wanted his next track to be a special one, a demo to send to an actual company so he couldn’t just compromise with ‘a passable’. San had already downed enough alcohol but Hongjoong was yet to be satisfied when they had finished every drink in his room—which was why San was running an errand for the depressed boy to the kitchen.

He wished he didn’t have the ability to recognise Wooyoung’s voice wherever he was, even in the booming of loud music and people loudly chatting, almost screaming. That way he wouldn’t have felt a piercing pain as his roommate confirmed his sexuality, denying their relationship with such an intensity as if it were the most appalling thought.

He wished he didn’t have the ability to spot Wooyoung wherever he was, even in the most crowded living room dark in light. That way he wouldn’t have had his heart shatter at the sight of Wooyoung indulging in the kiss with a girl, their hands busy making the moment to something more than that.

San quickly turned, storming the way out of the house, his brain growing numb with each beat the music was carving. He knew it. He knew his roommate was a straight man. Although he seemed to let him in his personal space, trusting him, looking after him as though he would his lover—he knew his feelings will never be reciprocated and that he should be happy with what he’s got.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t break his heart. That didn’t mean he would be okay at the sight of Wooyoung making out with someone else—whether it be a boy of a girl, but helplessness surged in him to know that he’d never look at him in that way—only because he was a man.

The pool of alcohol in him did not help his emotions numb. Instead it mixed dangerously, producing a chemical reaction leading in the wrong direction. He was broken and shattered. He felt like throwing himself away, not caring for anything. If anything could make him forget about this moment—

“San?”

A firm grip pulled the tipsily wobbling man’s arm. San looked.

_Jeong fucking Yunho._

What San recognised was a familiar tired ceiling of his room. It took him a while before he understood he was back in his room, laying on his bed. His brain felt like it was pierced with countless daggers, alcohol still lingering heavy on his body.

“You’re awake?”

A familiar voice was heard right next to him. A familiar one—since long ago, which he desperately wished to erase, of that he was succeeding in recently with Wooyoung by his side.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Yunho?”

“I brought you here because you collapsed in front of me. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” Yunho was sitting right next to him, too close for San’s liking. Knowing San wouldn’t thank him, not dwelling on the words he said, Yunho brushed the head of the huge plushie gingerly, familiar to the two of them. “I didn’t think you’d still have this buddy here.”

“Well, it’s not his fault that the one who bought him was a dick,” San muttered bitterly, embarrassed to have Yunho find out about Kuma. He grabbed the soft object by its leg and threw it off the bed to hide his existence, a little too late. 

Hoping to change the topic, San grumbled, “and what the fuck were you doing at Hongjoong’s party, again?”

“I...uh…,” his eyes wavered, finding the right words to say, but San knew he probably would never. 

“Mingi, huh?”

And the tall man shut his mouth. _Song Mingi,_ San repeated the name in his hazy mind. He probably should ask Hongjoong to prohibit that man from entering his house, too. If he were to bring this human around.

“No, fuck him,” Yunho snapped.

“Oh, you’re planning to switch?” San laughed mockingly.

“No, San. I fucking don’t care about him. He was with another girl again. He doesn’t care about me,” Yunho slurred on his words, evidently drunk like San, if not more.

“To this day, I still don’t know why I let go of your hands, San...I regret it,” he whispered slowly, caressing the other’s cheek. San shivered at the familiar touch.

“Yunho,” San called his old lover’s name, trying to put in as much restricting tone as he could in the voice, which diminished under the effect of alcohol.

“San, please...I feel lonely,” Yunho breathed. He was too close. San felt his hot intoxicated breath on his lips.

“San, I miss you.”

And that was it. The all too familiar musk scent of Yunho tickled his nostrils, draining every sense of reasoning. The current roommate’s prior intimacy flashed at the back of his brain randomly. He was broken. But he needed more. He wanted to be broken, he wanted to be spoilt, wasted, torn, ripped to the point he could lose his ability to think.

Their lips met. Among the flavour of alcohol, San recognised the taste he had long known.

═════•°• •°•═════

Wooyoung kept on sealing her lips with his, his hands roaming over her body, when he abruptly backed off. 

The girl furrowed her eyebrows, displeased. “What?”

He opened his mouth in an attempt to recover his shameful act, but he found nothing coming out. He couldn’t really understand, but he wasn’t enjoying this. 

_What the fuck, Jung?_

He came to this party to redeem his straight status. He had found an attractive girl, who is willing to give him that chance, to say what? _I’m not feeling it?_

His brain scolded him to get back to what he was doing but his body refused to listen.

The girl looked at the frozen boy and sighed. “It’s okay, don’t force yourself.”

“But I’m not-”

“You think I’m dumb? I literally get it when you’re not into it,” she rolled her eyes, straightening her slightly messed up attire. “Your kiss was sloppy, it’s clear your mind wasn’t here.”

“That’s not-”

“Make a move on me when you’re ready, bubs,” she flicked Wooyoung’s nose before she left with a relaxed smirk.

Wooyoung stared blankly at her back disappearing in the crowd hustling and bustling. He literally couldn’t understand. He hated to admit, he truly, absolutely, definitely didn’t want to, but kissing her reminded him of the last time in the party when he was kissing his roommate—Choi San. The two figures overlapped, making it terrifyingly obvious on their differences and the heat he was feeling.

Kissing San was like a drug. He didn’t know when to stop, he was never satisfied, he wanted more—because it was exhilaratingly _good_. Kissing the girl didn’t even come with a fraction of that stimulation.

Wooyoung wandered in the house, losing every passion of making out with a girl. Instead he found himself looking for a black haired male, he had grown to notice every detail of. The room was a hot spot of highly roused people, one of it being a tall guy, his physique modelesque, with sharp eyes bending down to kiss a girl. He probably looked like that earlier on (minus the height), and it irked him. He then found Yeosang, who was safely enjoying the darts game.

“Yeo,” he approached him, gaining his attention. 

“Did you score?” Yeosang asked, his voice bouncy probably due to some drinks.

Wooyoung pursed his lips dodging the question. “Did you see San?”

With a mention of that name, Yeosang’s smiley face disappeared. “Yes.”

“Where’s he?”

“I don’t know. He went out carried by Jeong Yunho. He seemed to be wasted,” he scoffed.

“Jeong Yunho?”

“His ex roommate and his ex boyfriend. They used to live in that room of yours.”

Those words stirred something in Wooyoung. He felt agitation swell in him. Something didn’t feel right.

“I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?” Yeosang asked, grabbing the frustrated man’s arm.

“To my dorm, he could be back.”

“He could be. With Yunho. Having sex?”

Yeosang’s words only seemed to fuel Wooyoung’s irritation.

“He won’t! We promised we won’t!”

With that, he shoved off Yeosang’s gripping hand and stormed off the house, swearing at his legs that couldn’t catch up to his beating heart.

The wooden door, brightly blue with some colour peeling off due to age looked almost foreign to Wooyoung. He’d been familiar with this door for quite a while, and yet as he panted from running, his heart beating from adrenaline built up his nervousness.

He reached out to the knob, and turned it all the way confirming it unlocked—suggesting the other resident was here. He released a sigh of relief knowing San was back safely, but only briefly before he heard his voice.

“You should leave, Yunho,” San’s voice, raspier than he ever heard. “My roommate shouldn’t find someone here.”

_Yunho._

Wooyoung forgot how to breathe. What was he possibly doing here? With his wasted ex boyfriend, in his ex room? He hoped they were solving a puzzle, or playing card games, literally anything even if they sounded absurd and illiterate—anything but _that._

Wooyoung’s now cold fingers pushed the knob open slowly, and the first thing he saw was San turning back to him, standing next to his own bed.

“Wooyoung…,” he muttered, his eyes growing wider in surprise. 

Wooyoung felt his heart shatter in pieces when he saw San’s defined collarbones revealed from his unbuttoned shirt, spread with fresh purple flowers.

“Is this your roommate?” 

An unfamiliar voice came from behind San, and Wooyoung stiffly shifted his eyes to see a brunette male on San’s bed. He was equally dishevelled from his hair to his clothes, his cheeks rosy whether it be an effect of alcohol or something else.

 _Jeong Yunho._ The man had handsome yet soft features, his eyes glittering even under the poor budget lighting of the college dorm, his slender legs screaming tallness even when he was sat—everything Wooyoung didn’t have. He clenched his fists, digging his nails in his flesh. He felt sourness and bitterness, all boiling in a pot at the pit of his stomach.

“Guests aren’t invited,” Wooyoung growled in rage.

“Just leave,” San ordered Yunho who then reluctantly stood up from the bed as suggested, straightening his clothes.

“We’ll talk again,” Yunho directed to San, of which he didn’t reply, before he disappeared through the door.

Silence lingered heavily in the room, it’s stagnancy almost suffocating. Wooyoung’s eyes were casted on his feet, away from San who he’d always been chasing at the edge of his view unconsciously—he was scared. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to ask? At this moment, this second, words seemed to have lost its purpose in his head.

After what seemed like a second or an eternity, San mumbled. “...I’ll leave too.”

Living up to his words, San almost walked past and vanished in the hallway but Wooyoung’s hand caught his arm stopping him on the spot.

“Did you-” in reality, Wooyoung didn’t want to ask. What was a question if there was only one answer you were willing to hear? If just a thought could hurt, the certification will surely stab him. And yet—and yet, he desperately yearned to hear a word of denial. Even if all the evidence denied his wish, just one word from this man could mend his soul. “Did you just have sex with him?”

Wooyoung watched San, almost in slow motion, as his lips parted and dropped, “yes.”

If Wooyoung’s heart was already shattered into pieces, now they were hammered into dust.

“YOU-So you make me _keep_ the rule and you just go _break_ them like that? You definitely said no sex in this room. What the hell?” he blabbered, almost choking on words, hoping he sounded sarcastic, hoping that the small tremble in the execution sounded like it came from anger, disappointment and not from the pain nibbling on his heart—the only armour he could wear so that he didn’t have to expose his fragile soul.

“I broke the rule,” San muttered emotionless. “And that’s why I’m moving out. You can have this room for yourself.”

With that last word, San gently pushed away Wooyoung’s hand on his arm, unleashing him from his hold, stepping out of the threshold.

“San!”

Broken call on the raven haired male echoed in the hallway—losing its purpose of bringing him back in the middle.

═════•°• •°•═════

“So you decided to like your roommate, which you swore to do it never again, who also happens to be straight.”

Hongjoong’s sharp words sliced open San’s wound again, his tone salty, making sure to rub it in for further pain.

San mumbled a ‘yes’, not a flinch above the bed he was laying on, his face planted on the surface. The answer was muffled, and Hongjoong might not have heard, but it didn’t really matter because he already _knew_ the whole story, and he was just enjoying how pathetic his friend was.

“You’re so hopeless,” he sighed.

After San had left the dorm, the only place he could possibly look for shelter was Hongjoong’s. And hence why he crashed at his house, not much of begging was needed as he practically owned the house which had plenty of rooms vacant. San also knew that Hongjoong had grown a need to protect him somehow, which was why he felt safe under his roof.

“You’re such a sympathetic friend, Joongie,” San snarled, making sure to bathe it with a high dose of sarcasm.

“Spare me your words of gratitude, I’d rather have your pathetic ass running,” Hongjoong smacked the said ass, gaining a yelp from San, before he stood up leading to the door.

“What?”

“I’m not going to let you vegetate in my house, young man. You gotta do some cleaning of my studio, before Jongho drops in,” Hongjoong gave a glance tilting his head back.

“Jongho?”

“Choi Jongho, the gorgeous vocal talent I found the other day on YouTube,” a bright grin grew on the elder’s face. “He’ll be working with me on my new track. This is going to be AWESOME!”

Only shifting his head posture, San looked at the small man’s back growing smaller in the hallway with a tiny skip. Unlike San, Hongjoong seemed to be having the best moments of his life. He pulled himself up from the bed sighing, listening to the command made by the owner of the house—it probably was a better option before he started growing roots on the bed, unable to move completely then. 

And it probably was a better option to have something to occupy his mind as that roommate of his seemed to sit there unmoving. The recurrent image of his disappointed face that night had stabbed him over and over again. 

Thinking back, he definitely wasn’t himself when he decided to quit mating with random people, instead feeling content sleeping with the other resident, basking in completely platonic friendship, in that small room. 

He shouldn’t have known the warmth of his body, a degree higher than San which seemed to chisel their way in, matching them as one by the morning. He shouldn’t have known the jitters he felt when the man looked deeply into his eyes as if he could see through the core, that almost convinced him he was in love with him, too. He shouldn’t have known the scorching burn when he saw the man praising or making out with a female, shoving him with the fact that they’d never be together—a pain that made him feel pathetic. He shouldn’t have known—because forgetting something that touched so close to his heart was just so arduous.

 _What were you expecting San? It wasn’t meant to be anyway_. 

═════•°• •°•═════

It took Wooyoung some time to calm down. 

When he saw the two together—his roommate and a soft-featured male who stood on the very opposite of who Wooyoung was—it riled him. He was angry, furious, upset, violent, bitter and all sorts of emotions he couldn’t decipher. After a while of strangling his poor pillow, a way to release his built up pot of mixture, a question creeped in instead.

_Why was he so mad?_

Sure, San had broken the rule that he himself had announced. That was breaking the code, and to be accused of, but all he could do was make him pay for another entire meal at the cinema, or work on Wooyoung’s English assignment for a month. It was a good reason to blackmail him (friendlily), but not exactly something to condemn him of his crime.

Unless Wooyoung was San’s boyfriend, then that would be cheating, but they clearly weren’t.

Then, why was he mad?

He thought; maybe facing San would help him solve the problem. But he was nowhere to be seen. 

At first Wooyoung thought that San’s ‘moving out’ statement was only what came out under that circumstance, but his doubt has slowly grown into assurance that perhaps he really meant it.

San had been ditching his English classes—the only class he shared with Wooyoung. He must have been attending university but Wooyoung failed to catch his sight. He realised that he had been dropping by the dorm to collect his belongings, but making sure to do so when Wooyoung was out having classes.

Even the most dense person (arguably Wooyoung himself) could tell—San was avoiding him.

So Wooyoung was left by himself to figure it out. He slumped on his bed, his eyes vaguely focusing on anything until they landed on the fluffy golden brown resident who had left lonely on the other’s bed. 

If San couldn’t sleep without hugging something, then who was he with leaving his favourite plushie behind?

His mind registered the familiar sourness coiling in his belly, that one feeling he never wanted to admit, ignoring for all he could, but he now knew the name of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no expert to the LGBTQ+ community, but I hope you understand that I respect every sexuality.  
> Woo baby is _this_ close to admitting his oblivious crush :')  
> Also, I think this fic will be about 8~9 chapters.


	6. “Did you miss me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me help you,” kissed San on his ears, sending shivers down his spine.
> 
> “...Didn’t you say no sex?”
> 
> Wooyoung wasn't trying to refuse—it was more of asking for a consent to the rule he desperately wanted to break.
> 
> “This isn’t sex,” San smirked defiantly. “It’s more like...a charity.”

A ping came from Wooyoung’s back pocket. He fished his phone out in a speed of lightning, hoping it was a reply from that one person—but his shoulders dropped mercilessly at seeing Yeosang had texted him, the content he couldn’t be bothered.

He then tapped the name ‘Sannie’, reading the conversation below, neither replied nor seen.

**Wooyoung**

Hey.

I think I overreacted the other day.

Let’s talk it out.

I’m sorry if I offended you.

Can we just have a talk?

San, you’re not really moving out are you?

Are you going to ignore me forever?

San, please reply...

He missed him.

He had come to the point that he couldn’t ignore. 

He longed for him, and that feeling, that sour taste that always burnt his stomach with its acidity, the feeling he desperately tried to deny, tried to live up to his obliviousness if it meant not to admit that fact that he was _jealous_.

He wanted to be the only person San touched, and that could touch San.

He wanted to be the only person he’d seek for comfort at night, granting him the sleep and comfort he was deprived of.

He felt alleviated seeing San’s purple bruises washed out from his smooth honeyed canvas, denying somewhere in the middle that he had the urge of wanting to paint his own.

A knock was heard, abruptly pulling Wooyoung out of his thoughts.

Was it San? Would he knock though? It was his room anyway. Who the fuck cares?

“San!” Wooyoung cried, slinging the door open.

But the one standing there wasn’t a black-haired male with pure yet teasing eyes, but an almond haired male whose face Wooyoung had seen six years of aging, now widening his eyes in surprise.

“I must have disappointed you,” Yeosang snorted with plenty of sarcasm.

“No, I’m sorry...I just wasn’t expecting you to come here. Come in,” Wooyoung mumbled, opening the door wider to let the guest in.

“I literally texted you I’m coming,” Yeosang groaned, walking past the threshold, slumping his butt on the bed.

Wooyoung then recalled the text message he had received earlier. That must have been it.

“Uh, sorry, I must’ve missed the notification.”

The younger sat on the bed, back where he was sitting before he asked, “what brings you here?”

Yeosang sighed audibly, then dropped a huge plastic bag he was holding onto his bed, letting what it carried carelessly spread out on the bed—bottles of soda, candies, bags of snacks and chocolates.

“You better thank God that you have such an angelic and caring friend to cheer your gloomy ass.”

Wooyong found one odd looking snack in the pool of them. “You seriously didn’t buy a baby’s snack to cheer me up?”

“I surely did. It fits your mental age,” he remarked blatantly.

“Savage,” Wooyoung mumbled with a pout.

“Try harder.”

The two paused sharing a glare, which resulted in a burst of laughter not so long after. It had been a while since Wooyoung had laughed so lightly, a comfort he needed coming from his best friend.

Munching on a baby gummy that tasted of yoghurt, he approved, “this isn’t so bad. Do babies these days get such treats? How unfair!”

Picking up a string from the pack in Wooyoung’s hands, Yeosang throws it into his mouth.

“I knew you’d relate to 12 months old,” he teased, arching his brow.

Despite the shade he threw, Yeosang himself seemed to approve of the gummy, giving a nod as he enjoyed the taste in his mouth.

“It seems like San really is moving out,” Yeosang mentioned, looking around the room, noticing how San’s possessions were minimal.

“He owns little stuff to begin with,” Wooyoung replied, pursing his lips in disagreement. “He still has his name registered in the resident list. It’s not official.”

“...Didn’t he break the rule?”

“The rule he made up on his own. It’s not what the dorm forbids.”

Definitely not what the dorm promoted, but that's besides the point. Yeosang gazed silently at the blonde male, who was willing to protest at any idea that went along the line of ‘San leaving the dorm’. “I thought you were disgusted at the thought of him making out with Yunho?”

He sure was. He definitely couldn’t stand the fact that someone had once possessed San’s heart and could still be. And worse to imagine that someone had broken his heart to make him turn out the brittle that he was today. 

“Woo, I know you’re a caring friend. But at this point you sound like you like him in a special way,” Yeosang let out a laugh, suggesting it as a joke but Wooyoung couldn’t laugh it off. 

The usual Wooyoung will snap back and yell ‘I’m straight!’ angrily and yet he sat there quiet, his hands clenched in fists from anxiety. Noticing Wooyoung’s strange behaviour, Yeosang mumbled out, “wait-”

“...I think I do,” he breathed out, his voice almost disappearing in the air. “I think I like him that way.”

There was a fright in accepting the fact. It was a door he thought he’d never open. He didn’t mind people liking the same gender, but he never imagined he’d be one. He was confused, to say the least. Unexpected realisations were always daunting.

There also was a fear in confessing that to his friend of six years. He knew Yeosang wasn’t someone who’d judge him for his sexuality—or so he believed. But it wasn’t guaranteed that he wouldn’t distance him away. The way he looked at him could change and he trembled at the thought.

“You must be joking,” Yeosang scorned.

Wooyoung flinched at the words of rejection. He found a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow. 

“Three years, Woo. THREE FUCKING YEARS.”

Wooyoung thought he was the one who was supposed to be emotional. But somehow, Yeosang’s voice was trembling and there was an unknown tension to it. Anxious, he turned his head to the almond-haired male whose head was dropped, his bangs hiding his eyes from betraying any emotions.

“ _All those years_ I convinced myself being a friend was the best for us—or was the only choice I had. _All those years_ I blamed myself for falling for a wrong guy, who I would never have a chance with.”

Wooyoung watched as Yeosang clenched his fists, also trembling like his voice. He wanted to soothe him, but he was utterly confused.

“Uh...I’m not following…?”

“I like you, Wooyoung,” the male next to him snapped his head towards him, his crystal eyes shooting straight at his. “I’ve liked you for three years.”

Wooyoung gulped the lump in his throat. Bitterness spread through his belly and lingered there heavily. 

“ _All those years_ , I told myself I can’t be anything more than a friend to you...and now you’re telling me that a guy you’ve known for _six months_ has your heart?”

His voice was like smashed glasses, broken, shattered, stinging. And those fragments sprayed in air, drawn in as Wooyoung breathed, pricking him from his inside.

“Why can’t it be me, Woo?”

The male with broken hue in his eyes approached, cupping Wooyoung’s cheeks and the moment he realised, his lips pressed against his.

Wooyoung probably should have pushed him back. But he didn’t know if he had the right to. Every pain he felt evident from his trembling lips transcended through the touch, squeezing what laid in Wooyoung’s left chest.

His mind was in a whirl of confusion and disappointment to himself—how he’d been so oblivious scarring a friend who he was supposed to cherish. And yet his stubborn mind couldn’t stop comparing the kiss.

The kiss that night under the effect of alcohol yet so vividly burnt in his memory, with the midnight haired man. How the heat they shared jutted down his abdomen, feeding his need but starving him for more all the same. That jitter he felt within, that intoxication, that felt _so wrong_ but _so right_.

And all that he felt now as trembling lips brushed his lips was a sorrow. 

This is _wrong._

Not because he was a man and Wooyoung was obnoxiously rejecting his possible sexuality like back then, but it was his _friend_ . It was _Yeosang_.

Not much force was needed to push him away. Only a small weight on his chest was enough to separate. “I’m sorry Yeosang.”

He met Yeosang’s ailing eyes; glistening as though shattered glasses were embedded in those dark chestnut spheres. 

Wooyoung never saw Yeosang cry. Even when he fractured his bone while playing basketball in school, even when he had to say goodbye to the pet dog he grew up with. He never cried. 

He was strong. He was vigilant. Maybe on his family’s death bed but nothing else could possibly waver his heart so wildly to make this man shed tears. Oh, how wrong he was.

Wooyoung was a protective man. Once he lets someone in his heart, he’d do whatever he can to protect them, and their tears will be a trigger. The irony was that it was he who made his most treasured best friend cry.

Yeosang shook his head briefly before he shot up and left the room. The shutting of the door sounded louder than what Wooyoung had remembered, ringing in his head endlessly.

“I’m so sorry, Yeosang….”

Wooyoung had to see San.

Although the painful face of Yeosang lingered at the back of his mind, stabbing him in self-guilt, forbidding him to see San and stop having his heart beating for him will not make him turn to Yeosang.

So he needed to move forward.

But San was clearly avoiding him, also risking grades of his English class. He couldn't see a shadow of San in the campus, and he didn't know who to approach to earn that information, except for one person.

Not so reluctantly as before, he reached for his phone searching for the number he thought he'd never text only a while ago. 

**Wooyoung**

Hey

Is this Kim Hongjoong's number?

Wooyoung reached out to Seonghwa, his brother, to ask for Hongjoong's number. The elder was pleasantly surprised to have his younger asking him for help, which he offered without much questioning. 

The only connection he knew of San, other than that blasphemous Jeong Yunho, was Kim Hongjoong. And he guessed, or he _hoped_ , that San was crashing at his place and not anyone else's.

Wooyoung waited half a day to receive the much anticipated reply.

**Kim Hongjoong**

And who's this?

**Wooyoung**

Jung Wooyoung

San's roommate

**Kim Hongjoong**

Oh hi

How can I help you?

**Wooyoung**

I know this is so sudden

But do you know where San is?

There was a pause to the conversation that was going on in a rally, and Wooyoung could easily guess the answer was 'yes'.

**Kim Hongjoong**

...Why would you want to know?

**Wooyoung**

We kinda had a situation

But I don't want to end things like this

I really need to talk to him

Please

There was another silence as he waited impatiently for the buzz of his phone, biting his nails. If Hongjoong refused, he'd have another painful time looking for San. He gasped slightly when he got the ping, reading as follows;

**Kim Hongjoong**

Come to my party tonight

═════•°• •°•═════

“You know you’re supposed to be the hype man if you’ve decided to host a party, and not tuck yourself in a studio,” retorted San, handing two cups of soju to an elder with ash grey hair and a younger with red hair.

“Thanks San,” received the red hair—Choi Jongho, who was becoming an increasingly familiar face in this household.

“Thanks, gofer,” teased the other man, Hongjoong, taking a cup from San’s hand. 

Hongjoong had hosted another party tonight, but all he was doing was staying in the studio with Jongho, who, borrowing Hongjoong’s quote; ‘the vocal gem the music industry needs to be blessed with’, working on new songs. Something that kept him enthusiastic recently. 

“We just got caught up. We’ll head out soon,” he said, quickly taking a sip of what he had ordered San earlier on.

“Yeah _caught up_ , making me run errands to get you a booze,” San scoffed, leaning on the doorframe.

“Well, if you don’t want to be my dogsbody then you better leave the house,” Hongjoong shrugged, to which San shut his mouth.

“Have you talked to your roommate yet?” asked Jongho.

Strangely, this month-old friend of Hongjoong and of San by now, gave them a feeling like they’ve known each other for their entire life, fitting and blending well in comfort with them. And that was why he easily had access to the reason why San was crashing in Hongjoong’s place.

San shrugged as an answer, receiving a sigh from Jongho.

“Is there something you wanna say?”

“No, never mind,” Jongho turned back to face his laptop screen.

“Jongho...don’t make it so obvious.”

San pushed, slight irritation coating his voice because Jongho noticeably implied, and if he was trying to hide then, well, he was doing a horrible job at it. 

Jongho turned on his chair and faced San again, Hongjoong staring at him, attentive on what he was going to say.

“It just seems like you’re running away.”

“Wow, harsh,” muttered Hongjoong at the younger’s remark.

The words tipped the chords in San. “...What?”

“You don’t even try. So what if he hurts you? It’s not the end of the world, San. We'll always have ways to get back up,” said Jongho, fixing his eyes on San, determined of his intention. 

His blatant opinion burnt the flame in San. Annoyance taking over which became evident on his tapping feet.

“Bitter,” commented Hongjoong, pausing before adding, “but I think he has a point, Sannie. Try talking to him. It’s about time you love yourself, take care of yourself, and let others do that for you.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically at the two musicians' comments, he flipped his body back to dissolve himself in the bath of loud music. Not forgetting to slam the door loudly enough after blurting, “I need to dilute those _soppy_ _cordial_ _words_ with soju.”

_Running away?_

_It’s not the end of the world?_

_Yeah, of course it wasn’t him who was going through it, was it?_

_What does he know?_

Trying to ease the frustration, San grabbed a bottle of soju as soon as he was one of those bouncing on the floor and downed one third of it in one go. The effect of the intoxicant was quite quick, holding hand-in-hand with his sleepless nights through his veins.

Since he left the dorm, he had a hard time sleeping, lacking both the furry bouncy feeling and the solid warm feeling in his arms. 

For a man who knew San only for a few weeks, Jongho was obtrusive, one could call him arrogant. But he also was truthful, pretenseless and observant all the same. 

San knew, at the back of his mind, that what was feeding his fury was how he was talking the _truth_ ; the cowering truth he didn’t want to admit.

He missed him. 

He missed cradling his fluffy blonde hair, he missed his dreamy eyes that would often squint playfully, he missed his soprano laugh that rang in his ears strangely comforting.

He missed Jung Wooyoung.

More often than not, he’d hoped he’d visit him at least in his dreams, instead of other haunting figures. But he’d never grant him that wish.

Still, he wasn’t ready for a heartbreak, another rejection. He’d been through twice, and countless others he refused to register, that one more crush might make him lose it completely.

Jongho may call him cowardly. Hongjoong may call him glum.

But that disappointment in Wooyoung’s eyes the last time he left him in the dorm pinned heavily in San’s heart.

He swallowed another third of the drink, swaying to the beating music among the aimless crowd. He hoped the litres of alcohol could dilute his brain cells, melt his bones, as the heavy beat of the music convulsed his body, to his bones, where it could all shatter to nothingness.

═════•°• •°•═════

_Great. Fucking great._

Briskly walking down the street, Wooyoung cursed at his misfortune.

As soon as he got the invite from Hongjoong, a possibility of seeing San, he resolved to be there right at the moment Kim's door was ready to welcome a stranger. But his coworker at the part time job decided that it was that exact day he’d fall ill, leaving his portion of work to Wooyoung; resulting in being two bloody hours late to the party. 

The two hour old party was already a mayhem, people sprawling on the ground as they wished, wasted, some of them tangling their bodies establishing a private room in their buzzed minds, amongst the loud chatters and laughs and yells, came an odour of alcohol, mixed with sweat and perfumes.

The Wooyoung before would hop right in the scene and would be happy to be one of them in half an hour, but he only had an eye for one person right now—San.

Scanning in the dark room, he didn’t find that one person instead found the owner of the house.

“Hey,” approached Wooyoung.

“Oh, hey, Woo...young? You made it,” replied Hongjoong with a friendly smile.

“Yeah, thanks for the invite,” he yelled, trying to not let the loud music beat his voice. “Do you know where San is?”

Hongjoong pursed his lips and looked around briefly before replying, “no, I’m sorry. But he should be around.”

“Thanks.”

As Wooyoung was about to leave to hit other areas of the house, Hongjoong warned, “he could be pretty drunk, so be careful.”

“Why?”

“That’s what he does when he’s pissed,” he shrugged, soon getting back to his DJ booth, joining the red haired male.

He searched for all public places; living room, kitchen, garden, veranda, and there was no sign of San. Wooyoung didn’t want to be _that_ guy, but he had to do it. He quickly ran upstairs and started opening the closed doors. Most of them were empty, but he did encounter one couple half naked, earning a scream and a yell, to which he shut the door immediately, uninterested.

“Fine, we’ll go get us more drinks, okay? Stay here.”

Wooyoung flipped, hearing a man’s voice coming from the corridor. He saw a shadow walking off downstairs, and he followed to the room where he came from.

There he was. A raven-haired man sprawled on the bed, vulnerable.

Wooyoung gulped once before entering the room, scared, having the worst scenario that can happen in bed played in his mind. 

He sighed shakily once he saw the man, although disheveled and had his smooth chest exposed with a shirt unbuttoned by five, he still looked dressed.

_Guess I made it on time._

Wooyoung pat himself in his head before he leaned down to the man, who had his eyes closed, ignorant of his arrival. 

“San.”

The man squinted his eyes once before opening them slowly, his charcoal orbs hidden halfway.

“Mm...who’s this?”

With a trill in his heart, to finally have him reflect in his beautiful eyes, he whispered softly, “Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung, your roommate. I came to pick you up,” 

“Wooyoung??” he let out a high-pitched voice which was followed by laughter. He then gathered his arms that were thrown away above him on the white bed sheets to capture the said man by his neck.

“Have you finally decided to come to my dream? My wish is granted!”

_Oh God, he is wasted._

With how his words slurred at every edge and with how every beat of his words jumped up in joy, Wooyoung was sure. But he couldn’t ignore what he had just said— _did he want to see him in his dreams?_

Deciding that taking drunkards at their word wasn’t quite intelligent, he brushed it off. 

He initially wanted to talk to San, have a productive conversation, but it seemed quite unreasonable to do so with his current state of mind. Instead he resolved to one simple question;

“Do you want to go back to room 403?”

San eased the muscle of his arms, and dropped himself on the bed once again. His widened doe eyes looked straight into the other’s, making Wooyoung inhale sharply.

The question was simple. Yet it was so challenging.

_What if he said ‘no’?_

_Then what was Wooyoung going to do?_

His heart pounded, anxious of the reply that would make him or break him. Just when he’d started to think of a way to make kidnapping legal, he received the reply in the creasing of San’s eyes, and tugging curve in his lips, and the carefree note of “yes!”

It wasn’t really an easy job carrying a full grown man, half-conscious on his side. 

But it wasn’t all that bad, considering how San managed to walk on his feet with the help of Wooyoung’s shoulder, looking like a tipsy but sane man.

It was a mystery to how San could handle it being _that_ wasted, because once Wooyoung was totally wasted, he apparently had thrown himself in the gutter claiming it as his home and Yeosang had to beg him to leave the sewer alone. He had told him countless times, and there were more than a handful episodes where he wouldn’t have managed without Yeosang and that was one of the main reasons he was forever thankful for the man.

So it puzzled Wooyoung as to how San handled the alcohol well, unless he was growing conscious gradually with some effect escaping as time went by, he didn’t know. But it was San. There were many things yet to unravel, held deep within his heart, if he could ever—he hoped he could.

Finally being able to throw the man on his bed in the dorm room, he felt his mission was complete. To say the room of the college dorm was wide was a rather bizarre compliment, but while Wooyoung used the room alone, instead of feeling it spacious, it felt empty. Now that two full grown men occupied the room, instead of feeling cramped, he felt complete.

Under the cheap fluorescent light, San breathed shallowly on bed, with his half-lidded eyes dreamy. His cheeks were red from the intoxicant, his shirt still exposing his toned chest, his hair disheveled and Wooyoung didn’t realise until now, how alluring he looked. Perhaps he tried to ignore, but now that he has seen and noticed, it was impossible to look away, driving him mentally wild.

“Wooyoung-ie~” San purred, catching the younger’s hands pulling him down.

With his shuffled mind, Wooyoung didn’t have the strength to withstand that force, and he was helplessly hovering over drunk San managing to plant his elbows on the side of his head.

They were as close as a brush of their nose, their eyes locked with each other and Wooyoung couldn't help but gulp at the mesmerising orbs that looked into him, almost surrendering into his gravity.

“...Why did you come?” the man with the force of attraction asked.

Caught off guard, he paused for a moment before he could squeeze out raspily, “because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“Because I wanted you to come back.”

After a short questioning, San paused. He blinked his eyes slowly, his emotions unreadable.

Then he breathed, whispering with a hint of temptation. “Did you miss me?”

_“So fucking much.”_

At the leap of the word, as if the force grew stronger, the two were drawn, finding each other's lips. The softness of San’s lips tinged Wooyoung’s with warmth, and a child-like play of mere touching wasn’t enough. They instinctively relaxed their lips, wide enough to slide their tongues in, and Wooyoung welcomed San’s breath altogether, intoxicating his sober mind in haze.

He felt San’s arms wrap around his neck, determined to not release him anytime soon, and Wooyoung in turn drew his hand on the other’s jaw, tracing it tentatively down his supple skin, while the other elbow stabled him above San. 

“Woo…,” San breathed, in what was in between a sigh and a moan. He nipped lightly at the bottom of Wooyoung’s lips, the act so provocative that he could feel his burn transcending down. 

A shot of electricity ran through him, when San adjusted his body, bending his knee, accidentally brushing to the growing sensitive part of the other.

Wooyoung inhaled shortly, trying to act as if nothing had happened, only briefly before he audibly gasped, feeling a hand on the exact spot.

“Let me help you,” kissed San on his ears, sending shivers down his spine.

“...Didn’t you say no sex?”

Wooyoung wasn't trying to refuse—it was more of asking for a consent to the rule he desperately wanted to break.

“This isn’t sex,” San smirked defiantly. “It’s more like...a charity.”

And there went the last string of his reasoning.

He was utterly succumbed—there was no turning down this sensual satan’s offer.

Wooyoung thought he heard it somewhere that alcohol can keep you dehydrated. But he didn’t have a drink tonight, and no, he wasn’t thirsty. But he suddenly felt like he needed a bucket of water. And even that would probably keep him parched.

Sat on the edge of the bed, he could only swallow his pooled saliva down his throat in substitute, as he goggled at the implausible sight of someone’s head buried between his thighs. His thigh muscles contracted in reflex as the raven-haired male imprisoned in his legs reached for his belt.

“Relax,” chuckled San, his booze-affected half-lidded eyes sesually glancing up at Wooyoung through his black strands dangerously draping on his forehead, a little too suggestively disordered for Wooyoung to not _imagine._

_Oh, and you tell me to relax?_

He unbuckled easily, zipping down his jeans in that practiced manner without hesitation that made Wooyoung feel twisted, frowning in bitterness. But when his fingers hooked on the rubber of his boxers, all those feelings were washed out by a tsunami of panic.

“Realx,” San soothed again. “Blowing won’t be any different with a dude or dudette. Just close your eyes and imagine the hottest Venus sucking you, good?”

_Not good._

_Why would I do that?_

Those words almost rolled out of his tongue carelessly.

Why would he, really, if he had the hottest, appallingly gorgeous and dauntingly attractive man—San—doing the service? He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Taking Wooyoung raking San’s head gingerly as a green light, he put a little force on the hook, pulling it down to greet his heated elation.

Wooyoung felt embarrassed. He wasn’t inexperienced, but having San look at him like that had him wincing, insecurity coiling up in his gut.

_Shit, why didn’t I down one or two drinks, or even ten?_

His mind was too awake to deal with this.

His useless thoughts shivered out as he felt a raw breath on his flashed skin. A flinch in reflex was unavoidable when San reached for his length and kissed the tip, his thick fingers lightly brushing it up and down.

That feeling in itself sent tingles down his spine, automatically closing his eyes as he sighed. Not for too long, though.

He shot his eyes open at the moist and warm feeling embracing his shaft and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Sure, he knew what was coming but this very view of the gorgeous man swallowing his length, careful not to scrape a tooth on his most sensitive organ, skilfully teasing him as he moved vertically had him and he almost reached his end with just this. _The view._ Too alluring, too solid, too erotic.

_Fucking hell._

And it got worse—or exceptional, with how _good_ he was. His tongue traced down along the bulging veins, and his hollow of mouth enclosed tighter as he bobbed up, as if to suck out every juice he milked out. The depth he went in was unimaginable, taking in every inch of his length almost reaching his deep throat, which made Wooyoung worry he might choke for a split second before he's flooded with another wave of pleasure.

Wooyoung could only throw his head back, letting out a breathy moan. Now and then, he stole a glance of how San was working his magical ways sucking him off on cloud nine, and he still failed to register how this was all real. 

The one he so loved is licking his dick that is growing in mass and firmness, meticulously from its head to the base like it was some delicious candy, drinking every precum like it was an expensive champagne, gripping on the solidness as if it were his most valuable trophy.

Wooyoung brushed his fingers through a further disheveled hair of the man, a little more clumsily than before, not being able to control the wave of pleasure weakening every joints of his.

Going against what San suggested, he tried his best to keep his eyes open (except for those oftentimes he just couldn't help contain ecstasy), to confirm it was none other than San. But San, however, not once looked up, keeping his eyes almost shut the whole time. It looked like who he was blowing didn't matter, as long as there was a cock, perhaps adding him to the list of his fuck buddies—and Wooyoung hated that.

" _S-San-_ " he managed to gasp out through his uncontrollable whimpers, and the raven-haired male finally raised his head, locking his midnight eyes with his. 

_Beautiful._

_He was._

Like a spell casted, he shivered under the gaze and released his swelled up desire surrendering to the one last ruthless sucking. Wooyoung groaned and through his hazy mind, he saw the man who had just gifted him with immense pleasure swallowing the content with ease.

" _What the-_ spit it out!" yelled Wooyoung in horror, to which San smiled innocently, "It's all gone."

He also did as much as open his mouth to prove, and it was gone, only a few streaks of white thick fluid lazily lingering on his tongue. And the view was just too much to handle.

Choi San saw no end in cornering him.

Huffing in disbelief, he noticed San's compressed bulge in his jeans. Feeling the joy that he was excited too, Wooyoung directed his hand to the other's jeans but it was stopped in the middle by a hand on his wrist.

"You don't have to," San said calmly. "I know you're straight. I can take care of this myself."

He then stood up a little wobbly on his knees as alcohol lingered stubbornly in his body, headed out saying, "I'll go wash myself."

The ebony haired man slipped out of the door like a shadow, the door closing silently as if everything was a dream.

Was it a dream?

But his dull heat remaining in his body was quite proving— _it happened._

After that ruthless dreamy like feeling San had offered, he wanted to do the same. Not because of a duty but because he wanted to. _He_ wanted to make _him_ feel good.

Even though Wooyoung hadn't had an experience with men, and his skill would be nowhere close to San’s, he still wanted to try it with him. _Because_ it’s with him.

And yet San slipped through the door, turning down his offer to take care of it himself—the reason being; Wooyoung was straight.

Wooyoung wanted to argue he wasn’t. Or rather, he wasn’t sure of his sexuality; he wasn’t sure if he liked men, because he’s only felt this way for San.

_Only you make him feel this way._

He wanted to reach out to San, hold his wrist and pull him in his arms and spill every piled up feelings. Until he realised the condition of staying in the room together— _do not fall in love_.

So what happens if San finds out Wooyoung had broken the rule?

Will he kick him out of the dorm? Never see him again?

Wooyoung bit his lip at the thought.

He only got him back. He wasn’t ready to lose him again.

═════•°• •°•═════

Heading down to the bathroom in need of a cold shower to cool his body and mind, San couldn’t believe himself.

Did he just suck Wooyoung off using ‘being drunk’ as an excuse?

Well, he was drunk, but not to the extent of not knowing what he was doing, not to the extent of losing his memory the next day. He could’ve stopped, if he wanted to. But alas, he didn’t want to.

Indeed, he was pathetic, taking advantage of someone caring about him, fulfilling his undeserved desires. Thus he couldn’t look at Wooyoung’s eyes, scared that he'd snap out of the zone and realise it wasn't an Aphrodite but a male at service, and he'd refuse his existence completely.

But at that moment when he breathed his name, snapping him to lock into his wet eyes, San shivered. Wooyoung registered the one he was with, was none other than San. And it would be a lie if he said that didn’t give him hope.

_Come to your senses, San._

He scolded himself, shaking his head, hoping to shed off the pathetic hope that was trying to bud in him. He sped down the hall, in need of a freezing cold shower.

═════•°• •°•═════

The next morning when he woke up, San was nowhere to be seen.

Wooyoung recalled last night, and although he did try to stay awake until San came back, his heavy eyelids and his dull body were beyond his control that he had dozed off to sleep before he even knew.

_Did he not come back after the shower? Did he go back to Hongjoong’s? Or did he find a home somewhere else?_

_Or was it all a dream?_

The anxiety flooded in him, and as he tasted a bitter failure of his attempts, the door opened. It was San.

“Hey, you’re awake,” San greeted, his hair damp and his neck draped with a towel. He must have gone to the morning shower.

Wooyoung sighed in relief. He was here. He was _still_ here.

He raked his morning hair and hand-ironed his disheveled clothes—not that it mattered—before he asked the man tossing his belongings on his bed.

“Did you sleep well last night?”

“I kind of...slept on your bed...and I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not!”

So, they slept together, just like before. Even though he doesn’t remember, that fact itself was enough to bring about a natural smile on his face.

Getting a firm confirmation, San smiled softly, his eyes creasing in thin lines. “And thanks to you, I did sleep well.”

Wooyoung felt his heart jump once. 

_Fuck, he was in love._

From the very first encounter, San was glowing—but it wasn’t as close to the accentuated radiation he was witnessing, as if he had drunk in the sun, beaming it’s ray from every pore that existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god bless people who write smexy smuts cause I don't know how ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. "Just shut up and-"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How are you feeling?”
> 
> “Great. Really,” San curved his lips naturally, and gazed back, finding the other’s eyes brighten in their tone. He slowly shifted his eyes on his lap, where the two laced hands placed, and he truly wished he’d never have to leave his hand.

Wooyoung’s fear that San might leave the dorm again seemed to fade, as San started attending English classes again, eating lunch with him again, having some random conversations just like before—but perhaps sticking together with each other more than before. 

He did ask about Yeosang once, it wasn’t a secret that they weren’t hanging out together anymore—and Wooyoung only answered that there was a situation, and he was to blame for that. San only nodded at the brief explanation; he wasn’t the type to pry further. Wooyoung reached out to Yeosang once, a text of apology and that he’d hate to break their friendship, but he knew that was selfish of him, and it was entirely up to Yeosang.

The sleeping habit of San hugging Kuma and Wooyoung in turn had only solely been Wooyoung, and the owner of the bed himself didn’t want it other ways. He almost felt that an inanimate object having soft features was his arch enemy, and he wasn’t willing to allow the hold of the said man on the other again.

Wooyoung soon reconsidered his choice of arch enemy, though, when that particular someone stopped the two on their way to lunch.

“San,” the tall figure emerged from the garden facing the corridor.

“Yunho,” called San, stopping his feet on the spot.

Wooyoung almost growled at the tall man, the undeniable height of his feeding him more with the hatred.

Feeling an unwelcoming stare, Yunho looked down at the shortest, stiffly giving a smile, “Hey Wooyoung.”

Not waiting for his reply (not that he was going to), Yunho turned to San and asked, “Can I talk to you?”

_ No, we’re hungry, and he’s going to lunch with me. _

Those words almost rolled out of his tongue, but of course the only one who had the right to answer was San, and the raven-haired male, with no avail, replied, “...Sure.”

He quickly turned to Wooyoung advising him to go ahead to the cafeteria and eat, and that he’ll catch up soon, before he left to the sunlit garden with the brunette.

Feeling restless inside, Wooyoung stared at the two walking away, his feet rooted to the ground.

═════•°• •°•═════

San felt strange.

Jeong Yunho had always been that person who spiked an emotion in him—pleasantly before, frustratingly in recent. But as he sat next to him around the rim that surrounded pretty flower beds, bathing in warm sunlight, he was nothing but calm.

“Sorry for stealing your lunch time,” Yunho said.

“No, I also think we need to talk.”

Yes, Choi Jongho was right, as much as San hated to admit.

He was running away from all the inconvenient realities, putting a lid on it as if hiding it away would make it disappear. But Yunho was very much planted in his memory until recently, and it was about time he sucked it up, faced it, and moved on.

“I wanted to apologise for what happened that night,” Yunho paused, glancing up far ahead in the greenery of the air. “And for hurting you back then, San.

“I had every excuse in my mind back then, wanting to comfort myself for hurting you, but nothing can justify what I’ve done. I’m a dick for letting you go like that, and I truly am sorry.”

A silence settled in between the two, and only the faint sound of people’s laughter somewhere in the area, a chirp of birds saved it from being a heavy one.

“We were young, Yunho.” San paused, inhaling the warm afternoon breeze, together with the sounds of the surrounding, cheerful and ordinary.

“We didn’t know what we wanted. We were vulnerable and selfish. We thought that justified hurting and neglecting others. We make mistakes. And we learn.”

Truth be told, it hadn’t been long since they broke off. But back then, they were both immaturely immersed in love, so endeavoured that they lost the direction of each other. They were youngsters in terms of love, losing control of themselves, not being able to  _ see _ the other.

“...Do you regret meeting me?”

San shook his head gently at the taller’s worried question. 

“I’m glad I met you, Yunho,” he slowly turned to look at the other, hoping he could deliver his sincere feelings that he had always had, but tried so hard to ignore it because he was dazed by pain.

“I’ve come to accept myself, thanks to you. Thank you for pulling me out of the dark place.”

If he didn’t meet Yunho, if Yunho didn’t love him, if he didn’t love him back, he could still be in that dark cell, chewing himself, stabbing himself with an imprinted failure. And that was what scared San the most. It was a blessing he had met Yunho. Even though the paths diverged, that would never change.

Yunho’s eyes glistened under the sunlight, a gentle breeze wafting his hazel hair. 

“I’m glad I met you, San. Thank you for letting me hold your hand.”

In that moment, San felt a heavy load leave his body. 

Jeong Yunho wasn’t his nightmare anymore. He was his memory; bitterness mixed with sweetness, but will soon lean on the latter as time goes by.

After a moment of comfortable silence, San prompted. “Have you settled things with Mingi?”

“For now, yes,” he groaned. “He could act out again, but I’ve decided to not give up on us easily and face the problem until we really see the end...I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”

San smiled softly at his old friend’s resolution.

People make mistakes. People hurt someone, and are hurt by someone. People learn. People grow. It was only a matter of acceptance and a courage to step forward.

“So, are you dating Wooyoung?”

San felt his heart skip at the question.  _ Oh, how he wished.  _ “What? No, he’s straight.”

Yunho pulled himself back in a frown. “Really?”

“Yeah, he’s been announcing that ever since he found me gay.”

Yunho flipped his head up, his eyes catching a glimpse of a blonde-haired male leaning on the pole in a distance. Feeling playful, he leaned in closer to San, palming his cheek, resting an elbow on one of his everlasting legs. Then he asked dubiously. “Are you sure?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The death glare he gives me tells me otherwise,” Yunho arched his eyebrows, and San could only shrug.

“You know, Sannie,” started the taller man, a tone infused with more friendliness than what they had been sharing for the last few years. San turned to look at the man, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“You are quite sharp with the feelings of others who you don’t really care about, but quite dense when it comes to someone you  _ do _ care.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Maybe,” Yunho admitted, which resulted in a playful slap by San. The two giggles floated in the air, and it was as if old times came back.

“No, but you should confirm. I believe you have a bright future.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then...I’ll leave my arms open for you?” He said, opening his arms wide open.

“No thank you,” San rolled his eyes, and pushed the other’s chest with not much force but Yunho staggered dramatically.

═════•°• •°•═════

_ When will the two get back? No, more like, when will San get back? _

Wooyoung bit his nails in impatience, waiting for the man who was kidnapped away by a giant. Ignoring the fact that San told him to go ahead and have lunch at the cafeteria, Wooyoung stubbornly waited, eyeing at the two men’s back further away.

He obviously couldn’t feel patient when he now recognised Jeong Yunho as San’s ex boyfriend, knowing that he even had one. It wasn’t one of his friends; he was in a relationship, which might wound up again, if it hadn’t already.

To ask for tolerance in this circumstance was like asking a fish to walk on land.

He felt a little at ease when he saw Yunho coming back, not so much as when he was hopeful to see anybody but San.

“Hey, Wooyoung,” the tall man gave a likeable smile to the man in frown.

Wooyoung wasn’t grown up enough to familiarise with his arch enemy, but he hummed, thinking he could at least acknowledge his existence.

“Where’s San?”

Seemingly not so bothered by the blonde male’s rather rude attitude, he replied. “He’ll be here soon.”

Wooyoung thought their conversation ended and looked away, when Yunho thought otherwise. 

“I wanted to tell you,” he started. “Because I’m not sure San did, considering his past traits.”

_ Oh, is he now boasting the fact that he knows San very well? _

Honestly, every word Yunho dropped was taken in a wrong way at this point. He was jealous. He was insecure. But one thing that kept him glued to the place and not intruding on their privacy earlier was the one reasoning that he was nothing but his  _ friend _ .

Wooyoung was almost prepared to scorn mentally at whatever the other male said, only until he heard it. “We didn’t sleep that night.”

Wooyoung shot his head up to finally meet Yunho’s almond eyes, which softened at the encounter. 

“He rejected me.”

Yunho turned his head and registered a figure approaching. He quickly turned to Wooyoung to give the last piece of advice. “He’s a little complicated. But I think you’ll find your way around.”

Wooyoung’s cheeks flashed at the remark. Was he that obvious?

Yunho chuckled playfully and dropped a “Good luck!” before he waved a goodbye.

“Oh, I guess I made you wait?”

Another voice rings into the flustered Wooyoung’s mind. It was none other than San.

“You could’ve gone to grab your lunch...you must be hungry,” San said in a caring tone, together with a gentle brush on Wooyoung’s nape which made his frustration of waiting dissipate in an instant.  _ Oh the magic he held.  _

He shouldn’t pry. A voice somewhere in his mind chided him.

But there was a beauty in simplicity and honesty, and Wooyoung decided to convince himself.

“Are you guys dating?”

San blinked at the sudden question. He wouldn’t know how Wooyoung’s heart pounded against his ribcage. What if he said ‘yes’? Obviously, he couldn’t think that far ahead—but it would most definitely break his heart.

To his favour, San laughed as he answered simplistically. “No.”

Wooyoung emitted a sigh of relief, then went ahead asking after a slight hesitation, “...he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

That seemed like another random question, but he recalled the way San looked that night with Yunho wasn’t a pleasant mood. And although he doesn't have an all round information about their relationship, he had an idea that it wasn’t a smooth end. Not when San was (and is still somehow) so guarded to let someone in, unconcerned about his well being.

San dropped a gaze at the shorter, which looked like it was out of fondness, and Wooyoung could feel his heart beat a notch faster.

“No, everything’s fine.”

He gave another caress on Wooyoung’s nape, that feeling he loved, that feeling he wanted to grow accustomed to.

Waking up on an electronic tune ringing wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling—especially on Saturday morning. It also doesn’t help that Wooyoung was leaned at the edge of the bed spooned by the still soundly asleep San; the fact that the phone was within his reach and not San’s, and the fact that he might be feeling too comfortable in the other man’s arms to move.

“Who the hell is calling this early in the morning?” he groaned, reaching out to the phone that wasn’t his.  _ Okay, perhaps not so early _ , he reconsidered as the phone display announced past eleven. He also sees the caller he does remember; ‘XXX hospital’.

Wooyoung recalled what had happened the first time he saw this display name. San was acting strange, distancing himself drawing a line in between. That really wasn’t what he wanted, so should he wake this man up?

The ringing was persistent, probably the other end of the call was determined to challenge until they heard the automated woman’s voice, and by the time San had woken up.

“Why so noisy…?” he mumbled, brushing his still sealed eyes with his hand.

“Uh, it’s for you,” slightly wincing at the cute sight of the sleepy head next to him, he handed him the phone.

San paused gazing at the screen, unbeknownst to Wooyoung whether he is contemplating or still failing to register to his hazy brain. It was the second time calling that San decided to pick it up.

“Hello?”

There was a slight tenseness in his voice. Probably unconsciously, San pulled Wooyoung closer to him for comfort, and honestly, the blonde male was cursing internally at how his little touch ricocheted his heart ever so easily.

Wooyoung barely made out what was said on the other side of the phone (totally not because his heart was beating too loudly), and San replying almost to nothing wasn’t helping much. The part he understood was when San said, “I’m coming,” as he ended the call.

The figure behind him pulled himself up on the bed, and Wooyoung struggled to stop himself from whining, missing the warmth. After succeeding, he woke himself up too, soon meeting the other male call his name.

“Wooyoung.”

He hummed in response, stretching his body, feeling a good relief trail down his shoulders.

“What do you say for a date today?”

═════•°• •°•═════

When San proposed a date on a fine Saturday, he at least meant half of it.

He’d love to go on a date with Wooyoung, no doubt, even if they do hang out pretty much 24/7 being a roommate and sticking around on the campus—still, going out was a whole another exciting experience.

At least a brunch (or to be fair, a lunch) in a cozy restaurant they were currently in would pass as one. It was comforting—probably less when he started to reveal his destination over the coffee after meals. 

It wasn’t much of a revelation, really, with how Wooyoung saw San getting a call from a hospital, that they  _ were _ going to the hospital. He kind of guessed who, too, from the last conversation he overheard. But the part San needed to fill in was his complicated relationship with his mother. Yunho knew it by default, but San never opened up to anyone. He never wanted to, or felt the need to.

But now that he was dragging his roommate along, he owed him an explanation. And more than that, he wanted him to know about him.

It was a pleasant surprise that San, who adamantly refused to see his mother, evidently holding a grudge was now willing to see, finding the calm and amnesty in himself. He was finally moving on from Yunho and his mother; those two persons that haunted his night. 

In the course of life, many things happen, and perhaps it wasn’t the entire reason, but a fairly big part of the reason was the blonde male with a cheerful personality sitting in front of him.

San didn’t want to make it sound too serious. He wasn’t going to the hospital to slander his mother for the tough life she gave him, but he instead wanted to give them a chance to rebuild their relationship. So he carefully picked on the basics, keeping his tone calm.

But the brown-eyed man cared. At least it showed in the way he reached out for San’s hand that was on the table. He was warm. A warmth he grew acquainted to having in his arms every night. A warmth his body refused to let go every morning.

He was glad Wooyoung didn’t mind coming along, instead the man never once unlocked their hands, assuring San he would stick with him. He was grateful, feeling relaxed on the way to the hospital, only when he stood in front of the appointed door did he feel a nervousness seep in his stomach. Sensing his anxiety, Wooyoung squeezed his hand once, and the two looked at each other with a soft smile.

His mother was sitting up on a bed at the far end of the room, blankly staring outside the window that displayed the not so special garden of the hospital. He couldn’t see her face yet, but she seemed a frame smaller than what he used to remember. 

“Mother,” he voiced. It had been a long while since he said the word to the person it belonged to.

The woman snapped her face and gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Her voice was hoarse, choking on the sound as she called, “San…!”

She probably wanted to stand up and run to him, but she was too fragile to do so. She stumbled on the bed, as San rushed to help her sit up straight.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” his voice came out softer than he imagined, but his brushing on her shoulder was slightly awkward.

“I’m sorry,” his mother apologised weakly. She grabbed San’s arm that was on her shoulder, and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise for that…,” San mumbled, feeling confused that he might have sounded accusing in some way.

“No, San. I promised myself I’d ask for forgiveness if I ever see you again, if you ever give me a chance to,” she looked up at her son as if to gauge in how he grew up in these four years. Her tears welled up in her eyes, and the son felt troubled. 

“I’m so sorry for what I’ve said to you, what I’ve done to you!” she cried. “I was wrong for thinking you were wrong. I was selfish for not acknowledging you.”

San shuddered at his mother’s confession. He could hear it in her desperate cry that she meant every word of it.

He voiced, shakily than he had imagined, “Do you...you don’t mind who I like?”

“No, Sannie. As long as you’re happy. Your happiness is what matters to me,” she smiled softly through her tears. “And I’m so sorry it took me such a long time to realise that simple truth.”

It was that soothing voice of his mother he remembered in his young memories. Calming, soft, genuine, tender. San felt his heart tighten, and he almost cried together with his mother. He was at loss of words; he didn’t even know what the right words were anymore. So he instead embraced her in his arms, a small, fragile figure, he had longed for unknowingly. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed like that, until his mother noticed a man looking over his shoulder.

“Is he your friend?”

Slowly pulling away from his mother, San glanced at Wooyoung who was silently standing there, giving the two members of the family a space, all along. He smiled softly.

“Yeah, he’s my friend and my dorm roommate, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Nice to meet you Ms. Choi,” Wooyoung approached with his usual friendly smile, brightening up the entire room. 

His mother gave a warm greeting, and they could only chat for a brief while before a doctor came in for her checkup. San promised he’d be back soon, and left the room.

On his way out, San thanked and apologised to the nurse who didn’t give up on calling him. If it weren’t for her, he mightn't have had a chance to reconcile with his mother. The nurse laughed it off, saying now that she had met her son, she’d have more appetite to recover. 

San felt a blissful lightness in his heart, as well as the weights on his shoulders. Their way back was as pleasant as it could get, Wooyoung still holding his hand like it was almost unnatural to not do so. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Now they were riding in the bus, sitting side by side, feeling the sway of the vehicle. San looked at the blonde male who had just posed him a question calmly, and he could see a soft smile tugging on his lips.

“Great. Really,” San curved his lips naturally, and gazed back, finding the other’s eyes brighten in their tone. He slowly shifted his eyes on his lap, where the two laced hands placed, and he truly wished he’d never have to leave his hand.

San watched as Wooyoung dipped the spoon in the tub of ice cream he was carrying so preciously. It was a thank you gift, as he joined him on the hospital adventure, and although Wooyoung resisted saying ‘there’s no need’, San insisted on getting one (and honestly, who ever says no to a free ice cream?).

They were now back in the dorm, settled on San’s bed facing each other cross legged, enjoying their afternoon snack.

San scooped from his pistachio flavoured cup watching the other man relish in the flavour he ordered; cherry jubilee. A natural smile formed at how he was beaming, and San probably could just buy a tub everyday if a mere ice cream could make the man so happy. He did think twice, though, because that wasn’t a healthy idea (quite literally).

Wooyoung noticed San’s gaze and pink creeps in his cheeks, probably embarrassed thinking he must have looked childish. And that appeared all the more endearing in San’s eyes. 

“You wanna try?” Wooyoung pushed his tub forward.

San simply smiled and shook his head, declining his kind offer. Cherry wasn’t really his go-to flavour and he’d rather see the blonde male enjoy to the very last drop of it.

“You know, I’m happy about you and your mum,” Wooyoung said, scooping another fair amount of pink ice cream. “And thank you for telling me about yourself. I bet it wasn’t easy, but I’m glad to hear it.”

San hummed in response, watching the man smile shyly, and something in him swelled up. His mind swayed back to what Yunho had said;  _ ‘you have a bright future.’ _

Does he really? Was there a chance that Wooyoung wasn’t straight? And he liked him the way he did? If he didn’t, then it would break his heart, that was sure. But more than that, San just wanted to let him know how much he loved him, how much he meant to him. 

With all other negative emotions swept away, all that remained was this.

“I love you.”

San met Wooyoung’s widened eyes, and the spoon falling off his samely widened mouth was strangely in slow motion. The cleanliness agent at the back of his mind was relieved to see it landed safely in the tub. 

A silence passed as San waited for a reaction, but the blonde male seemed to be frozen still, so he decided to take his hand that was held mid-air. The man flinched slightly, but apparently had no intention on pulling away his hand from San’s gentle hold.

“Before you misunderstand, no, it’s not in a bro or friend kinda way,” San started softly. He was surprised at how calm he was feeling, as what remained in his heart was the genuine feeling of wanting to deliver his sincere confession. “I love you, Wooyoung. I know I’m breaking my own rules, and I understand if you don’t feel the same. I just wanted you to know that you mean so much to me.”

Wooyoung blinked his doe eyes, and the next moment he opened, they looked somewhat glistening. Then he mumbled shakily, “I...I can’t breathe…”

San gulped. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to trouble you or anything I just-” He inclined, reaching out to embrace the other, but hesitated thinking it could be too intimate for the other’s liking. That moment was only brief, before Wooyoung himself jumped into his arms, San instantly catching the ice cream tubs before it made any disastrous mess on his bed.

“You and your stupid rules,” Wooyoung growled in San’s ears. 

San chuckled dryly, not knowing what to make of this situation.

“You need a penalty for being the first one to break it.”

“...Wait. The first?” San didn’t let the word slip out as he pulled away slightly from Wooyoung.

They locked their eyes, and his hazel eyes softened before he whispered, “Yes. Because I’m in love with you too, dumbass.”

He felt something swell in his heart and burst, a trickle feathering every cell in his body. San stayed silent for a while to ease up his breathing, and Wooyoung silent from the shyness evident from his cheeks.

“...What penalty?” San breathed, leaning his forehead on the other.

“Kiss me,” he whispered back boldly.

San smirked, thinking that was the furthest thing from penalty unless he has memorised a wrong definition for the said word. The tugged smile is also caused due to how this adorable human in his arms just wanted him as much as he did.

He only needed to lean in a little from the proximity they shared, brushing his lips on Wooyoung’s soft, plump lips. They’ve kissed, twice. But he’s still surprised at how cottony it feels, and how he’s heart just floods with delight with a mere touch, like it’s their first.

Giving a soft and light kiss, San drew back, muttering playfully, “I’d always make stupid rules and be sure to break them if this was what I get to pay.”

He felt a light slap on his back, and Wooyoung groaned, “Just shut up and-” before he could finish the infamous line, San sealed his lips again. 

This time more intimate, he could feel the sweet cherry flavour lingering on his lips, and San thought he could certainly get used to this taste when it felt so delicious like this. The kiss deepened, as if they could never get enough of each other’s taste. What was unlike the two kisses they shared earlier, was that this one was driven more by love and not by lust, because words weren’t enough to express them entirely.

San trailed his tongue on Wooyoung’s bottom lip, leaning him down slowly on the bed, skillfully placing the ice creams on the floor in the process. Wooyoung huffed, and San gave him another smooch on his lips before he proceeded to give a feathery brush on his cheek, his nose, his eyelid, and his forehead.

The man in his arms was glowing with his fully blossomed cheeks, glistening lips from their kiss, now slowly fluttering his eyelashes open to meet San’s eyes. A little hue of shyness creeped in Wooyoung’s dark orbs, but it soon covered in crescent as he giggled. His merry laughter chimed in San’s heart, and he inhaled gingerly, letting the realisation that this pretty human shared the same feeling with him, settle in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally dating yayy  
> now what awaits is happy cuddly time, wrapping up some stuff, and steamy stuff...


	8. "I want you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rage was clouding Wooyoung's mind, but he also realised that this stupid man that laid below him, was hopelessly scared of losing him. And he couldn’t help but let the sparkle of endearment float in his chest.   
> And that in itself was a testament of how he was fatally in love with San.

“Woo, you alright?”

That voice and the soft brushing on the nape of his neck was what snapped out Wooyoung from his zone. 

“Yeah,” he turned to the worried looking San, and gave an assuring smile, before he took another bite on his chicken. 

San and Wooyoung were in the cafeteria, having lunch like usual after their English class. And it was that very English class that was bothering him, when he saw his friend quarelling with a guy at the end of class. He wanted to approach Yeosang, make sure everything was okay, but Yeosang still hadn’t talked to him and he wasn’t sure if he had the right to do so. The quarrel was only brief though, before the guy huffed and left the room, so it must not have been something serious.

San had been long done with his lunch, and what remained was an empty plate before him.

“It’s about Yeosang right?” he asked with concern in his voice. “You really should just go talk to him.”

Wooyoung was silent, half of it because he was busily chewing chicken, and half of it because he didn’t know what to say. 

He wanted to reconcile with his best friend. He obviously did. But he hurt him for three bloody years and it was only selfish for him to want to be by his side, while all he could offer was a position as a friend.

There was a thud of a plastic tray on the table, followed by a tenor voice.

“Your talk better be something of a hilarious crack joke, or else I’m set off.”

Wooyoung snapped his head up at the familiar voice, that one voice he’s used to hear for six years—sometimes insulting, sometimes comforting, but nonetheless homey.

“Yeosang…”

The almond haired male gave a grunt, and resided himself on the seat opposite him, started munching on a kimchi.

“I gotta get to my job now. Catch you later, both of you,” said San, giving a light pat on Wooyoung’s shoulder before swiftly leaving the place. Wooyoung mused at how considerate and smooth his boyfriend was, with giving the two space they needed.

“Um...Yeo,” Wooyoung hesitantly initiated to the man who was busily chunking a pint of rice in his mouth. “Was everything okay in the English class?”

Swallowing his food, Yeosang scoffed, “Okay? No, it’s not. Some dick came up to me and gloated on how my friend had turned out gay because of his roommate and how he feels sorry for me or something.”

“Shit, sorry-” Wooyoung blurted. He was surprised by how the news was travelling, not that they were hiding but it was nothing to announce to the strangers, really. But such rumours had been spreading around since before confirming, so perhaps it was another of those. Nonetheless, that wasn’t important right now, but more of the fact that Yeosang was being attacked while he had nothing to do with this.

He wanted to apologise again, but he could only shut up, meeting Yeosang’s glare.

“What are you sorry for? You’ve done nothing wrong, have you? The only sorry you should feel is for that prick’s sad life which is probably so tedious that he has to mind someone else’s business to entertain himself.”

Under the circumstances of their current relationship, Wooyoung probably shouldn’t laugh. But he failed miserably at how his friend hasn’t changed one bit, with his sharp tongue that could slice anyone into pieces, and he wasn’t a stranger to it himself.

Yeosang gave a side glance at the man opposite him and curved his lips. 

“Jung Wooyoung, you’d be so hopeless without a friend like me, hm?”

“Can’t argue,” Wooyoung admitted without a second thought.

He wiped his tears at the corner of his eyes, relishing on the restoration. He drank in the sight of his best friend that he missed so much; handsome and defiant under a noon light shining through windows.

“Are you guys dating now?”

Wooyoung swallowed a sip of water that he just took in. He wasn’t prepared for the question—he knew he was supposed to tell him sooner or later, but he didn’t think it’d be now. To break the news to a person he just rejected, and to someone who he just reconciled with—didn’t sound very safe.

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. Then he opened his mouth, “so-”

“If you dare say sorry I’ll choke you with these chopsticks.”

Wooyoung gulped from the sudden threat. Yeosang never went easy on him, and his low tone in his voice was intimidating.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice softer.

“...Yes, I am,” he responded, slowly glancing up to meet the other male’s eyes. His eyes were carrying warmth, his lips softened in a smile.

Yeosang whispered gently, “I’m happy for you.”

  
  


Wooyoung couldn't tell if he loved sleeping facing each other more, where the last thing he’d see in a day and the first thing he’d see in a day was this gorgeous human’s face, or being spooned, with no space in between them that he could feel San’s warm heartbeat on his back, which always seems to lull him to dreamland.

But recently it was this exact warmth that kept him awake. There’s no space in between them when San hugs his waist, aligning his chest to Wooyoung’s back, and recently, as if all the nerves had gathered themselves a meeting on his back surface of the skin, the way San’s chest heaved in air, the way his toned abs were shaped perfectly were so vividly imprinted on his skin, that he felt tingles all over his back.

It was stupid to doubt if Wooyoung liked him too much and San didn’t, when the man clearly has no shame in confessing his love in front of the entire world (although he won’t under the decency) and never takes his boyfriend for granted. Like  _ never _ . Then Wooyoung wondered if the said man was asexual. Yes, he literally searched for the meaning, and debated if he wanted a platonic relationship (with only kisses—feather-like to accompanied by a moan-like,  _ yeah totally believable _ ). A thought of asking Yunho flashed in his mind, which he dismissed immediately, knowing he’d boil in jealousy if he did as much as imagine them being intimate.

He also wasn’t sure what the normal speed of progress was in a relationship; how long should a couple be dating before they slept with each other. He really didn’t know, but a month was enough for him to be fully sexually frustrated. Actually, if he did think of it properly, he was probably sexually attracted to San since day one, so there was that. And to have the cause around 24/7 literally fuelled his desire, and it didn’t help when he's wearing sleeveless shirts flaunting his muscular biceps or when he comes back from the shower shirtless, exposing his toned body.

Wooyoung was loud and straightforward, but believe it or not, he was shy when it came to such things. But he wanted more than cuddling and kissing—he wanted San. So, there is nothing wrong in asking a lover to proceed with their relationship—only he hoped he wouldn’t appear desperate (a fair argument was that he was, clearly).

They were lying on their stomach on one bed like usual, watching some YouTube videos off San’s smartphone, which Wooyoung’s mind was completely absent of. Wooyoung not so subtly turned to look at the man next to him, his gorgeous dimples caved in from whatever show he was watching, his eyes crescent and thin, and even under the artificial light of a cheap dorm light, he was gorgeous.

Noticing the obvious attention he was given, he gave a cheeky glance at him, those teasing eyes, that Wooyoung loved and hated so much. 

Wooyoung didn’t wait to lean in and smash his lips, making San leave the smartphone out of his hold. He kissed back, like always, and drew back guessing it was only a light affection he was showing, but Wooyoung chased the taste.

Wooyoung could feel the slight surprise from San, swallowing the sound he released, taking a chance to slip his tongue in the unintentional entrance. He tangled his tongue on the other’s, sucking and drawing it hungrily. San’s engine blew a little slower, but he soon joined in by tracing the back of Wooyoung’s teeth alignment, making him shudder. He was hungry. He wanted  _ more. _

They didn’t break the kiss. Wooyoung went on, now lying atop San, his hand slipping in the other’s loose shirt and that’s when San stopped him. He quickly held the intruder’s wrist, pausing him from proceeding further, gaining a whine from him.

“Uh, Woo?” he mumbled, his voice confused.

“What,” he groaned, not being able to hide his pout of dissatisfaction.

“Do you know what you are doing?” San asked in a concerned voice, and it just triggered Wooyoung.

“Of course I do! What’s wrong with wanting to have sex with you?” He sat up, his legs straddled over San’s small waist.

The man beneath him choked on air, whether from the word he just spilled, or the pressure he felt on his abdomen.

“Unless…,” his voice fell. “Unless you don’t want to sleep with me…,” he dropped his head, feeling his earlier confidence shrivel to nowhere.

“No, that’s not it!” San propped himself up with one elbow, another hand reaching out to the blonde male’s.

“I just…,” his words trailed off, looking unsure of how to phrase it right.

“What is it?”

“I just didn’t know if you wanted this,” he sighed. “You’ve been straight all your life, and even if you may feel attracted to me as a person, I’m physically a man. It’s different, you know?” San looked up with a concern in his eyes, but Wooyoung wasn’t convinced.

“Fuck, okay,” the raven haired male dropped himself on the bed and ruffled his hair messily, covering his eyes with his palms. He admitted weakly, “I know this is stupid and cowardly, but I guess I was scared that it might hit you that you were actually dating a male when we do it, and you might not want it anymore.”

_ What the fuck was he saying? _

Wooyoung felt a flare rise up from his gut.

_ Did he take his ‘I love you’ as a half-assed confession? _

_ That he wasn’t sure of it? Or confused? _

_ He didn’t believe he really liked him? _

_ What the fuck. _

The rage was clouding his mind, but he also realised that this stupid man that laid below him, was hopelessly scared of losing him. And he couldn’t help but let the sparkle of endearment float in his chest. 

And that in itself was a testament of how he was fatally in love with him.

Wooyoung gave a sigh, and leaned on top of him, dropping a peck on his lips.

“I love you, San,” he declared.

The man removed his own blindfold slowly, and his unsure eyes met the determined eyes of the man on top.

“And I want you. I’ve never been so sure in my life.”

He felt the hold around his waist tighten, holding them closer if it were even possible. The man’s orbs shimmered, and Wooyoung swore he would never get tired of adoring the universe he held. 

With the both initiating, they pressed the lips together, as though a promise was sealed.

Wooyoung was so sure of this.

He knew he wanted San, and he had not a single doubt about it, but now was the man gripped him hard on his waist with one hand, and the other pressed on the back of his head, ruffling his hair messily as he pushed him to the delirious kiss, he couldn’t stop his heart thud crazily against his rib cage.

He was nervous. As San slipped his hand under his shirt, tracing his bare back gently, he felt a tingle run down his spine. Their lips still attached, tongue chasing each other, he skillfully turned Wooyoung, positioning him on the bed, and San hovering over him.

The kiss got breathier, as San nibbled on Wooyoung’s bottom lip, making his heat sink lower down the abdomen. He tugged his shirt up and Wooyoung shivered at how gentle the pads of his fingers trailed up, as if to remember every detail of how Wooyoung’s body felt like. 

Wooyoung winced when San’s fingers touched somewhere no one had ever—his nipple. He carefully pressed the surrounding of the nub, not to push it too far ahead, and taking Wooyoung strengthening the wrap around his neck, he pressed on it gently with his thumb. 

Wooyoung gasped slightly, already breathless enough from the luscious kiss, but still insatiable, wanting more. It felt ticklish at first, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to giggle or moan, but by time his body warmed up, he registered the pleasure he felt from San playfully pinching his nipples.

“Ngh,” he moaned briefly, when San slid down and decided to mouth one of the nub, pressing the other with his finger. 

He had been thinking the nipple-play was only suited for women, but really, when San is rolling them on his tongue like a delicious candy and brushing it with his fingers adjusting his strength accordingly, making the heat rush through his body and especially on his lower end, he had been wrong all this time.

It’s impossible that San hadn’t noticed his arousal quite evident under his trousers, and it drove him to the edge how he wasn’t intending to give him the touch.

“...More,” Wooyoung croaked, and he could feel all the blood rush to his cheeks.

While he threw away his pride out the window and pleaded, San instead stopped and sat up. Wooyoung groaned, wanting to give another one or two complaints but the words failed him when he looked at the man above him. His lips were shimmering from their kiss, his uneven breath, and how he looked down at him with his dark orbs full of lust—he had never seen San like this. So aroused, so hungry, like he was gazing at his prey. Wooyoung felt his throat go dry, his heart clenching.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” San started in a semi-dry voice.

“Y-yeah?”

“The role,” he continued. “Do you want to top?”

The word didn’t register quickly. Of course, Wooyoung wasn’t clueless about male sex, (he actually did a thorough research since they started dating) and so, he knew the term top or bottom was a crucial issue.

“Wh-what about you? What do you usually do?”

Wooyoung really didn’t want to ask the question. Because it was referring to all those past times San was sleeping with another male, while it was Wooyoung’s first, and the jealousy never settled well in his gut.

“I usually top, but I can do both. It depends on my partner,” San simply shrugged. “I was assuming you wanted to top because you’ve been straight?”

“Uh…,” Wooyoung hesitated. 

What San said was true. He had never slept with a man, but he had with a woman. So he understood the gist of being a top, and that could probably satiate his pride, also not being so clueless about everything. But since they started dating (or, since he first met San, but that was too scary to admit), and through learning about sex between a male, he had imagined, yes,  _ imagined _ sleeping with San, with himself being the bottom.

_ To hell with pride! _

When it came to San, all he wanted was to be honest.

“Uh...will you...top me?”

That conclusion didn’t come with confidence, though, as Wooyoung averted his gaze and bit his bottom lip as embarrassment crawled over his entire body. He could catch San widening his eyes at the corner of his eyes, though.

“You sure?”

“Yes...or you don’t like the idea?”

“I fucking love the idea. I really want to fuck you,” San hissed, and Wooyoung gulped at the intensity of his desire, seeing his eyes glow a shade darker.

He coughed, trying to gain his composure and said, “Under one condition though.” 

San tilted his head in question.

“Let me suck you.”

It was something he had been dying to do since that night San had sucked him off. He really would have, if San didn’t turn down his offer, and since then the eagerness had been burning in him. 

Wooyoung noticed a pink tint creep in San’s cheeks, and his heart danced at the sight. 

“Um, okay, if that’s what you want,” he approved, leaning back and placing his hands behind him, so that Wooyoung would have better access to it. Wooyoung grinned probably too innocently for the situation, and San’s expression softened—only shortly before Wooyoung bent down on his knees, quickly undressing him, reaching out to the rubber of his pants.

“Woo-” he called, with a hint of worry in his voice.

“Look, San,” he lazily glanced up at the frowned expression of his lover. “I love you, and I would definitely love your dick too, if you give me a chance. Kay?” 

San groaned and threw his head back in defeat, Wooyoung not hesitating to pull his underwear down.

San was hard. His dick literally flew out of his underwear, happy to have been released from a tight confinement of a fabric. It was red and veiny, pulsing as if it was another life form. Wooyoung had seen his own dick, and maybe Seonghwa’s when they were small, but it was his first time seeing a mature one, throbbing right in front of his eyes at that. 

The silence while Wooyoung was fascinated by the view had probably made San uneasy, and he opened his mouth again, “Wooyou-” and he was going to take none of it. He instantly took the alarming cock in his mouth. San grunted.

He was surprised he felt no rejection while having a foreign object in his mouth. If anything, he felt weirdly satisfied. He had no idea how to suck a man off, obviously, but recalling what San had done to him before, he carefully dipped his mouth from the top down, until where his mouth capacity let him, careful not to brush his teeth on the sensitive organ. He couldn’t get the entire thing in, feeling so full at the back of his throat, and he was silently amazed at how San did it (ignoring the length), while he felt like he was choking having it in his mouth so full.

“You’re doing good, Woo,” breathed San, raking on Wooyoung’s hair, making him want to try harder. He bobbed his head up, squeezing the circumference with his lips, tracing a tongue along the base to the head. He felt like he was sloppy at doing this, sulking from his innate competitiveness, but when he gained a wet “ _ fuck _ ,” from San, he knew he wasn’t so bad.

San was probably bigger in his mouth now, and he felt so full, trying to swallow him as much as he could. His throat was squeezed by the mass, but he didn’t mind. Because it felt so  _ good _ to have him in his mouth, because it was San. The foreign taste of his precum leaked bitterly against his tongue, but that too was a prize, if it meant for San to look so aroused, his eyes hooded, panting Wooyoung’s name in between his hot breath. San hadn’t touched him yet, and his cock was throbbing so hard in his pants.

“Okay, stop,” San slurred, brushing Wooyoung’s hair from his slightly sweaty forehead.

“Why, am I that bad?” pouted Wooyoung, waking up from the position. 

San pulled him in his lap, and kissed the shining lips of his. “No, you were amazing. I just want to come in you for our first time,” he whispered heavily in his ears, and Wooyoung felt a shiver run down his spine, also split red running from his forehead to shoulders, making him feel hot.

Easily, he dropped Wooyoung on the bed and he was on his back again, watching San remove his top completely, and Wooyoung couldn't help but be awed at his gorgeous toned body. And it was all his. 

“Can you remove your top?” asked San, and Wooyoung complied. San on the other hand moved to his lower body, and removed his trousers and underwear at one go. And then, there wasn't a fabric in between their bodies.

Wooyoung squirmed at San’s glazed gaze. 

“You are so beautiful, Woo,” he said with all genuineness, and he felt like the temperature in the room shot a degree higher.

He leaned down to pull a drawer beneath his bed, reaching out for a lube and condom. San popped the lid of the lube open, and squeezed a decent amount on his hand. Suddenly Wooyoung felt nervous—although not in a bad way, but because he was going to experience something he’d never—and never imagined he would.

“Tell me when you feel uncomfortable, okay?”

Wooyoung nodded, anxiety taking over him to let a word spill from his mouth. A finger rubbed around the rim and he shivered, however it didn’t come in as he expected, only brushing and pushing gently.

San leaned down, and gave a soft kiss. “You need to relax,” he whispered, and sealed his mouth again. Wooyoung loved San’s lips. His lips never felt so good pressing onto someone else’s and it was never enough. Whilst indulging in a gentle kiss, he felt it pressing through him. He hitched at the strange feeling of something he wasn’t used to, but it didn’t hurt. 

“Are you okay?” San asked, pressing his lips on his jaw.

“Yes, it’s just…,” he paused. “Weird.”

San hummed in response, and started stroking his long neglected cock. Wooyoung felt a heat growing in his abdomen releasing a moan. His softened body allowed San to thrust two digits in, but the pain is evident this time. San noticed Wooyoung’s frown and sweat, and rubbed his shaft harder to ease the pain.

“Do...you want to stop?” He asked hesitantly.

“Ngh, no,” Wooyoung gave a firm answer, because if he had to go through this to have San the closest he could ever have, then he would. 

San pressed his lips softly on his lover’s forehead, and cooed, “I’ll make you feel good, okay? I promise.”

Wooyoung nodded, and although he could somehow ignore the pain washed away by the pleasure he was given from the stroking, he didn’t think his ass was somewhere he could find the fun in. What motivated him was how he wanted to make San feel good with him, and how he would have their bodies connected to the closest proximity. 

But it’s true. Wooyoung thought San was just roaming in his inside to soften him, but he found out that he had a clear aim to it when he felt an electricity run down his body as he brushed a certain point in him.

“Ah!” he couldn’t hold back a shameless moan.

“Found it,” San grinned, which appeared as though a mischievous child coming up with a bad idea. Wooyoung hadn’t noticed how the digits went up to three, too busy receiving the pleasure from San rubbing his prostate. Three fingers spread widely inside, the pads brushing his tight walls as they went in and out. 

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whimpered at how San’s fingers drilled in him, playing with his pleasure so easily with the flick on his prostate. Wooyoung arched, and he can’t hold back his moan, when he could feel his hip jutting back to his fingers like a horny man he was. It’s embarrassing, but it seemed to turn San on.

“Fuck, Wooyoung, you’re so hot,” he groaned a tone lower, which rumbled in Wooyoung’s lower belly, and there’s something about the look he dropped on Wooyoung that burned him.

“San, I want you,” he barely squeezed it out of his throat, and he noticed how it fuelled San’s desire in his eyes, but the man only groaned painfully, “Patience, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Wooyoung had no idea how he could still hold the  _ patience _ , while he felt like it was ages ago when he felt the throbbing heat in his mouth, yet to be released. And now he felt him rubbing on his thigh, his fucking hard cock, that feeling which simply made Wooyoung want to come in that instant, while the other maintained his calm. The act of stretching him seemed painfully slow, throwing Wooyoung to the edge, wanting San so badly, but within his hazy mind he registered how all this was meant for him; it was San taking care of him, taming his raging lust, all because he didn’t want to hurt him. And he felt a wave of affection puddle through him, for the time he lost count of.

“Please, San... _ please _ ,” he whimpered, and it was almost a cry. He opened his knees wider with what little strength he still had in him. He was desperate—even though he didn’t exactly know what was coming, he knew he fucking  _ wanted _ San.

“Shit,” groaned San at the sight, drawing out his soaked fingers. 

Wooyoung whined in emptiness, an act that stirred San further, quickly pulling a condom on his frenzy dick, spilling more lube on it. San leaned in to kiss his forehead, and whispered gently, “Tell me if it hurts.”

He pushed one knee up with a hand at the back of it, and positioned his tip on the rim, and Wooyoung gulped at the feeling. He pushed in slowly, and his tip slid in with not so much trouble, but as the mass grew, he couldn’t ignore the stretching pain. San spent so much time with his fingers, but his dick was nothing like that. Wooyoung huffed and stretched his arms out to San. San leaned in and he didn’t wait to grab the back of his head to smash the lips on him.

“Are, you, okay?” 

San asked in between the violent kiss, and Wooyoung nodded furiously. It hurt, yes, but he wanted San more than anything. San could probably tell he was feeling the pain and started stroking his a little less hard shaft to ease the pain, but not stopping his hip, knowing what Wooyoung wanted. And probably what he wanted too, with how hot his dick felt in him.

“You’re taking me in so well, love,” San breathed in his ears, hot, somewhere in between, and it fluttered Wooyoung’s heart, and made him want to do better. It’s magical how his voice and his heartbeat against his chest could relax him. San had that power no one else had possessed. 

San must have gone in as slow as possible, but surely, and Wooyoung’s pain had somehow subsided, but now he felt _ full. _

“How do you feel?” he asked when he was all in.

“So fucking full with your dick,” Wooyoung huffed.

San choked on air, and mumbled, “You’re so dangerous.”

“How do you feel?” 

“So fucking good that I’m trying my hardest not to come right now,” he groaned in a tone which sounded like he was at the edge, and Wooyoung laughed; ecstatic that he had the same effect San had on him. The vibration must have sent down, and San whimpered, “Shit, Wooyoung, don’t.”

Wooyoung gave a smug face that would otherwise make San roll his eyes, but it was different right now—he was looking down at him with a fond smile, like he was his everything, and for a moment Wooyoung forgot to breathe.

“I love you, Wooyoung.”

And Wooyoung felt like crying. He wasn’t the emotional type, at least he wouldn’t cry from an oh-so-intentional-family-bonding movie, and he’d thought he’d be the last one to cry from a love confession. But the tenderness that coated every edge of San’s words, how it softly vibrated through his ears, and the gaze that could probably swallow Wooyoung whole, quivered his heart.

He didn’t want to cry though, although he was almost choking on his breath, and so he pulled San down to bury his face on the crook of his neck. San took this as a cue to start moving, and he did. Wooyoung could feel it in his walls how slowly the hard shaft pulled out of him, then gently back in, as if every nerves were collected there. 

“Fuck, so tight,” the breath hit hot in his ears, and Wooyoung shuddered at the feeling. 

The speed quickened, and Wooyoung was no longer in pain, but he was feeling a surge of pleasure from how his hard dick cut through him. And when San decided to hit his prostate with his driving tip, Wooyoung cried, clenching tight on San's back. 

“Good?” San asked hoarse, while he kept on thrusting, and Wooyoung wondered if he really needed to hear his answer. It's not like his stupid uncontrollable moans weren't evident enough. Wooyoung nodded, or he intended to, but his neck was losing its strength too as he threw back his head.

“I wanna hear you,” grunted San. and there’s an undeniable hotness in the way he demanded, that made Wooyoung’s cock twitch.

“So- fucking, good,” he managed to croak, but the mewl he let out right when San gives another stroke to his nub inside sounded so needy, so lustful, and Wooyoung didn’t know he was capable of making such sound. He thought there was no space for embarrassment anymore, but he was certainly wrong. He gritted his teeth in shame.

“I wanna hear you, love,” San pecked on Wooyoung’s plump lips. “Cry for me.”

Wooyoung knew he wasn’t going to fend off for long anyway; not when his hot thick cock was stretching him so hard that now his entire wall seems to be sensitive to sexual stimulation, not when he didn’t forget to press on his prostate sending erratic wave of pleasure from his head to toe, not when he was going in so deep that he feels so overwhelming—and not when he was catching on speed that everything was frantic and recurrent.

“Ah, San- this, so,  _ good _ -more!” Wooyoung was not capable of making coherent sentences anymore, and he imagined how dishevelled he must look when the man was mercilessly pounding in him. His hair was a huge mess from throwing his head everywhere, sweat all over while there’s a drool running down his chin, but how was it that San looked down at him like he was the prettiest human on Earth in such fond eyes?

“You’re gorgeous, Woo, you make me feel so good,” he hissed, grinding shallow before he slammed in deep, gripping tightly on Wooyoung’s waist that would probably leave a mark by tomorrow. A strand of his black hair is damp on his forehead, and the way he looked like he was on the brink was so deathly hot.

Wooyoung’s head was spinning with all the orgasm that was threatening to _ ruin _ him—he could only feel how all the heat gush to his throbbing dick and his thighs started to shake.

“San-I’m-” he whimpered, helplessly shaken under San, and that was all he needed to say.

“Come for me, love.”

He thrusted in harder, stroking his cock for the one last push, and Wooyoung saw the spark in his vision, while a wave of orgasm washed over him torrentially. 

“Fuck, fuck,  _ A-AH!” _

He spluttered his built up cum on his stomach, arching his back widely on the bed. He swore he couldn’t take anything anymore, but the hard cock was still rutting in him, and he felt like he’d go _ insane _ . Uncontrollable moan escaped in the rhythm of his fucking, filling the room together with the slapping sound of skins, sinful squelching sound and San's heavy panting. San wasn’t so far either, as Wooyoung’s wall trembled with the high, tightly clenching on his length, greedily milking him out.

“I’m coming-” he grunted deeply, filling his cum in the condom, deep inside Wooyoung’s warmth. The heat lingered, and San leaned down, brushing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Are you okay?”

After being all cleaned up, but still lazy to wear a top—or wanting to feel their body heat without a distraction in between—they cuddle on bed topless. 

“My whole body would be aching tomorrow morning,” Wooyoung grumbled in a sleepy voice.

“You would be,” San said in an apologetic tone, stroking Wooyoung’s hair behind his ear.

“But it’s worth it,” Wooyoung lifted his hooded eyes and smirked, although the effect of his playfulness must have been diminished to half with how sleepy he looked. “Because it was so  _ fucking _ good.”

Wooyoung felt conquered when he saw San bit his lip frustrated from his words.

“You know,” San prompted. “I feel honoured to be your first.”

Now it was his turn to feel flustered, killing back the urge to say more cheesy stuff like ‘you’d definitely be my last’, and replacing it with, “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Good night, princess,” San chuckled softly, giving a feathery peck on his eyelid.

Wooyoung was never a fan of pet names. He hated being called by one, and so he never used one himself. But somehow his toe curled in pleasantness hearing from the man holding him preciously in his arms. Accepting the fact that he was hopelessly in love with him, Wooyoung snuggled himself to the slumber land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was my first time writing such a proper (?) long smut, and damn that was a challenge (and fun).  
> I feel like I’ve missed on details that I could include (yeah talk about writing 3.5K and STILL missing details. Definitely me), but anygays, I hope it is somehow delivered well.


	9. "Perhaps, you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this has come to an end...

The moment San fluttered his eyes open, he wondered if he was still in a dream. The very sight of his love sleeping peacefully within his arms still awed him like it was nothing but a dream—a dream he wished to never wake up from. And with every morning, he felt his heart swell. Especially with how they had spent yesterday, feeling him to the proximity he could ever manage.

Sex was never a challenge to him. No, maybe it was, when he just learnt it, but since then, it was like a need he had to fill in; like breathing. Like eating. Like sleeping. Then when he fell in love with Wooyoung, things changed. He was over the moon when his feelings were accepted, and he had to tame himself when he saw how Wooyoung was so carefree showing his skin around him, or just how he blushed at his words looking endearingly pretty, or how close he nuzzled in the crook of his neck when they cuddled. Really, San thought he would be able to turn into a monk with the amount of self-control he was managing, while all he wanted was to kiss him raw and rough, tear his clothes apart, run his fingers to every corner of his body, and love him to bits and pieces.

But he was scared. He could see how Wooyoung gave him his genuine feelings, and that he loved him, which made his heart throb  _ every time _ like a teenager in love, but somewhere at the back of his mind, he was scared. Scared that if Wooyoung looked at his flesh body, and realised everything was different when they were both the same gender, different from what he knew of relationships, then he might snap out of his dream. San never got together with someone who had lived straight in their lives.

And now as he watched the defenceless man in his arms, brushing away his messy blonde bangs, he couldn’t help but feel love blossom in his heart. Sex with someone had always been a way of escape for San. To forget his miserable past, to run away from reality, and just drown himself in a sham of brief pleasure. But sex with Wooyoung was the best thing he had experienced. He felt so close to him, as he poured every ounce of love he’d ever felt, it wasn’t enough, but it was close enough to ‘love’— _ ah _ , and that’s why people probably called it ‘making love’. It never felt so true.

San dropped a kiss on his cheek, and smiled as the other mumbled in his sleep. He was going to take his time drinking in the beautiful sight, until the love of his life fluttered his eyes open and gave him a drowsy smile.

═════•°• •°•═════

The first thing Wooyoung noticed was how his body felt so heavy, as if he had run a full-day marathon. The next thing he noticed was the ache at some part of the body he had never felt.

“Shit,” he slurred, snapping himself from the dark.

“Morning, princess. What a way to greet,” the velvety voice dropped from the top, and he tilted his head to meet the raven orbs of the man.

“Sorry...hey,” he muttered, averting his gaze once again.  _ Why the fuck was San glowing ever more brightly this morning? _

“Does it hurt?” he asked with concern in his voice, tracing his hands on Woooyoung’s waist that sent shivers down his spine.

“Yeah,” he admitted shortly, and everything that happened yesterday flashed in his mind. He wished he had a way to control his blood flows, but he didn’t, and it must have been clear for San how he recalled the details about—from the blush on his cheeks.

He was wrecked. He was delirious. He basically begged. He lost himself in between.

It was shameful, to say the least. The kind of things he’d said. The kind of sounds he made. The kind of moves he made.  _ Fuck. _

And then there was San; who was utterly, mind blowingly, overwhelmingly, nefariously,  _ hot _ .

Wooyoung didn’t regret it. If anything, he’d do it all over again—more times, the better.

He’d never get enough of it. Because it was  _ San. _

“Maybe a massage...and a cream? Ah, but let me get you water first,” San blabbered quickly, and attempted to roll out of the bed. 

Wooyoung clinged on him, giving a whiny sound. Everything he suggested sounded better—but not better than having San cuddling him. San curled in obediently, brushing Wooyoung’s back.

“I hope I wasn’t horrible though,” he said, now drawing circles on his back.

Wooyoung pinched his nose, gaining a grumble from San. Did his state under his body not tell him enough that it was nothing less than fucking amazing? But Wooyoung wasn’t going to say that. Not when his face was already burning in embarrassment with the memory of yesterday.

Instead he decided to say, “We literally broke two rules of this room.”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” San replied defiantly.

Wooyoung couldn’t help but chuckle at his confidence, “San, do you literally hear what you’re saying?”

“No, I’d rather hear your adorable giggle.”

Wooyoung’s cheeks blushed in an instant before he could squeeze out the most sarcastic line that came to his mind, to pretend he wasn’t pleased, even an inch. “Geez, you should really watch your mouth.”

“No, I’d rather watch you go shy for my words,” San mounted those tooth-aching words, and Wooyoung could feel his teasing stare burning up the other's body further.

His heartbeat was thundering and he cringed, but he knew he liked it—no,  _ loved _ it. He would melt at any cavity words of San’s. 

“...Fuck me,” he mumbled in defeat.

“Gladly.”

“San, it’s called figure of speech...I didn’t mean it, oh shit. AH! San, sto...ah…!”

Wooyoung felt quite surreal to be back to Hongjoong’s party. So many things had happened in here; the hot kiss that he could not forget to this day, the sloppy kiss that kicked him to realise his underlying feelings, reuniting with San who thought he had lost. To be fair, he didn’t know if this place had happy memories or not—it was quite a mix of emotions. 

But today it was different.; there shouldn’t be any dramas. It was a day where Hongjoong only invited a few close people (mind you, that’s like at least thirty) to unveil his mixtape; his mixtape he was working diligently with Jongho, that he finally was going to send them to the music industry for a hope for the future.

“Masterpieces only. But what can you expect from  _ the _ Kim Hongjoong?”

San and Wooyoung caught Hongjoong who was standing at the DJ booth at the front of the room. San held a cup of beer in one hand, and the other was brushing Wooyoung’s nape. It was a habit he had grown accustomed to, and although Wooyoung wouldn’t say it out loud, he loved the feeling of his hand on him, brushing gently, and he wondered if the feeling was mutual between a dog being cradled on its stomach.

“Stop that,” Hongjoong replied shyly to San’s compliment. 

“But it’s true! All of your songs are great,” Wooyoung confirmed.

Because it was. He had composed five songs which were sung by Jongho, and all five of them had different tastes, with their own attractiveness, yet not losing the flavour of Hongjoong. 

“Thank you,” he smiled sheepishly. 

“I told him that this mixtape will change our life but he doesn’t believe me,” Jongho sighed from the side.

“It doesn’t count when  _ you’re _ in it! Aren’t you ashamed of praising yourself?” Hongjoong nudged his partner annoyedly.

“Not when you’re this good, Jongho. You have the right to be proud,” San laughed.

“Thanks, San. By the way, you two look great together,” Jongho commented with a grin, which Honjoong also followed.

The couple looked at each other, and Wooyoung could spot the softness in San’s eyes—the one that never failed to warm his heart.

Soon someone called the protagonists of the night to their crowd, and Hongjoong and Jongho busied away.

“San!”

There was a voice calling from the other side of the room, and Wooyoung turned to give a glare. It was a reflex, really. He didn’t dislike Yunho as much as he did before, after San had told him about their past. If anything, he should be glad that Yunho was there to help San out during his difficult times, but that didn’t change the fact that San loved him once, which never failed to prick the jealousy in him.

“Can I?” San asked for an approval, and Wooyoung simply shrugged.

San smiled and gave Wooyoung a quick peck on his cheek before he walked off to Yunho and some other tall guy he was with. He heard the thump in his heart, but he didn’t forget to curse the two tall guys to wake up two millimeters shorter the next morning.

Taking a sip of his own beer, he spotted Seonghwa waving at him. His brother was back in town for the weekend, having been invited by Hongjoong too.

“Didn’t think you’d come to the infamous party,” Wooyoung teased, walking up to him.

“I’ve been trying to live outside my old box,” he replied, his smile relaxed. “It’s not bad at all.”

Wooyoung wondered what it would be like if Seonghwa was thrown into the  _ usual _ party, but he kept that to himself. Tonight was a relaxed party, and he should enjoy that to the fullest.

“You’re coming tomorrow right?” Seonghwa asked. “I guess it’s about time we sit down and have a talk.”

There was a family lunch planned tomorrow, and that was another reason why Seonghwa was back. Wooyoung had gotten an invitation too, saying the whole family  _ needed _ to talk. Wooyoung still sensed the arrogance in the word ‘need’ but old habits die hard.

“Yeah,” he said.

Seonghwa gave a friendly nod, and Wooyoung thought again— _ old habits die hard _ —but he has grown to know that that gentleness was probably not who he was bred to be, but who he naturally was.

A soft tune interrupted the two, and Seonghwa fished out the reason—his phone. A glance on the screen and he’s back smiling—but this time Wooyoung noticed a special intimacy in it.

“Your lover?” Wooyoung threw a guess. He noticed a faint shade of pink on his cheeks, so his guess wasn’t too far.

“No, but someone who accepts me for who I am,” he said, gesturing he was going to get the call and Wooyoung encouraged.

Wooyoung’s eyes lingered at his brother, whose smile only grew vibrant as he answered the phone, and he was surprised again at how things have changed between them; in a much better way.

Then there was a nudge on his shoulder.

"Yeo," he turned and called to the reason.

"He's cute," he blurted randomly, his eyes directed to the red-haired male, the center of attention in the crowd.

"Jongho?"

"I saw you talking to him."

"Yeah, you want me to introduce you to him?"

Yeosang didn't reply, only twisting his mouth in what Wooyoung registered as shyness.

He chuckled. "You can literally tell him about his songs and he'd be more than happy to talk to you."

Yeosang hummed, still not giving his friend a firm answer. Wooyoung found it funny how his best friend who he had known as 'blunt' and 'savage' was acting all so timid now—and he'd call that  _ cute _ . And he was so,  _ so  _ glad that he didn't lose someone like him.

"Come on, I'll do a great promo of you," he pulled Yeosang's reluctant body towards the red-haired vocal king, hiding his smile at how Yeosang's ears grew pink at the tip.

═════•°• •°•═════

Jeong Yunho being banned from Kim's house was now in the past—not that the ban stopped the man from sneaking in from time to time. After San had told Hongjoong about his relationship with Wooyoung and his issues between Yunho being solved, the ban was officially gone. 

Whether Hongjoong had apologised for the knocking, San didn't know, but he didn't really care. He still thought Yunho deserved it anyways.

"Hey," a tall guy muttered hesitantly.

San hadn't met Mingi for a while now, only maybe a glimpse caught in the corner of his eyes when he was messing in Hongjoong’s party, or walking in the corridor of the campus; the man was too tall to not notice. Now seeing him face to face, more relaxed than their first encounter, San could see the softness in him, that humble tug on his lips he would rather call him timid than a bastard.

"Hey," San replied easily.

Yunho stood alongside the two, eyes shifting in between busily; a sign San guessed as nervousness.

"I, uh," Mingi started, rubbing the nape with his hand anxiously. "I wanted to apologise for my dick behaviour from the last time."

Their first encounter was nothing but an awful experience—San would note that down as 'a guide on how  _ not _ to meet someone' if he ever writes a book in that title.

"Apology accepted," San replied with a grin.

Too emotional back then, he hadn't a clear mind on what he thought of Mingi, but probably something close to hate. But now he felt like everything had passed. To the extent he wished for the two men's happiness.

"Be good for eachother, yeah?" He tapped the taller's shoulder encouragingly.

Mingi and Yunho looked at each other and shared a sheepish smile. That's all the confirmation he needed. 

The music was tuned in a ballad song, where Jongho's voice vibrated the chords soulfully. San shut his eyes and immersed himself in music, not so long before he looked for his other half.

═════•°• •°•═════

“Woo, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung heard someone calling him, feeling the shake on his body. The warmth that was just there a moment ago was drawing back, and he grumbled with his eyes still shut, trying to pull it back on him. 

“As much as I want to spend the whole day holding you in my arms, aren’t you going to be late for your family meetup?”

That’s when he finally shot his eyes open.

_ Right, the damned family lunch. _

He looked at the clock on the wall that said half past eleven, and groaned at the fact that he needed to be moving now or else he’ll be late. 

“Thanks for waking me up,” he pecked the cheek of his favourite human and he walked to the bathroom.

When Wooyoung came back, San was sitting up cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through the phone. Noticing his presence, he looked up at Wooyoung who was now opening his closet and asked.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?”

Getting rid of his pyjamas, he threw a sweatshirt and navy jeans on him as he replied, “Yup. I need to face this on my own, sooner or later anyways.”

He checked the mirror and fixed his hair, only enough to look like he didn't just jump off bed—well, because he wasn't going on a date with San, then that would be a different scenario.

He turned around to find San with a softened eyes. He probably didn't even have to try looking nice for San, Wooyoung thought, because from the way he was looking at him, the man would just go out on a date with Wooyoung with bed hair and a pyjama. 

"Besides, you're seeing your mum later, no?" Grabbing a bag with minimal possessions, he headed to the door.

"Mm," San hummed as he followed him from behind. San was still in his nightwear and messy hair, his eyes hooded with evident sleepiness, and Wooyoung winced at the cuteness. 

"I could use a good luck charm, though," he looked at San teasingly. 

San only tilted his head in question, and Wooyoung used that chance to lean in and steal a kiss. Perfect angle. He could feel San smile against his lips, giving a squeeze on his waist, before he pulled away.

"Tell your mum I said hi," Wooyoung said.

"Take care," San waved at him.

Sitting on the back of the bus on the way to his parents', Wooyoung felt the lightness in his heart. The pop music from his earphones helped, but there was more than that.

He wasn't sure how the lunch would go, and it could ride in a heartrending path, but he was sure, however, he could face it. It was that strength he found along the realisation towards his love. 

San made him strong. It was a static fact equivalent to  _ the earth is round _ or  _ the sky is blue.  _ He was what made him strong as San catered to his weak side, he was the reason why he wanted to be strong when San needed a shoulder to lean on. 

Perhaps he had learnt something about 'independence' walking out of his old home and into the new one, because he wanted to be a reliable foundation to lean on. Perhaps he had learnt something about 'dependence', because he understood that it was okay to be vulnerable in front of people. Perhaps it was okay to discard himself for what he believed he was, and simply accept what he felt. Perhaps it was okay to hold someone close to your heart and share the other half.

And perhaps, it was all San.

═════•°• •°•═════

San could probably get lunch and look for something decent to take to his mother, before he headed to the hospital. He unhurriedly walked up to his closet, looking for something wearable. 

While dressing, he wondered what could be a good gift to give a hospitalised person, moreover, what his mother liked. It had been four years, and his mother's preference was a distant memory ever since his life had been churches, therapies and neglection, and there wasn't a room to care for someone else.

It probably was a big change, he thought, how he had a mind to fetch something for her. 

A basket of fruits, he thought. It sounded good for a patient, and he recalled his mother liked apples. Or maybe not. It didn’t really matter. If he couldn’t remember, he could learn. He now had a chance to know her, get close to her, and he’d rather live in the future than dwell in the past.

Pulling a jacket from the back of the closet, he noticed something remotely huge and brown sitting at the very back solemnly. It was Kuma, his old sleeping buddy. Although there wasn’t a fault in the plushie, and San hadn’t any emotional attachment for it that connected to Yunho, Wooyoung still seemed to be bothered. He used to glance at Kuma laying on San’s bed and would give a small pout, looking down in jealousy. Childish, one would say, endearing, San would say. And so the pitiful bear was to be stored deep in his closet, until—San wasn’t sure.

He was sure, though, that he was foolishly in love. Being broken two times, he avoided being attached to someone. But that never stopped his past from haunting him, having nightmares, pulling him to the dark side. When he thought he had forgotten and gotten over, he was only putting a lid on something he didn’t want to see. But now, with Wooyoung by his side, he felt like the misplaced gears were finally placed where they were supposed to be, running his life to somewhere brighter. 

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t scared of a heartbreak. Letting Wooyoung in, giving him access to his entire heart could be devastating—if Wooyoung decided to crush it. But by now he knew that if he cowered and didn’t take a step forward, he could never walk towards the light. He’d rather bask in warm rays, even if gloomy clouds and torrential rains poured down sometime in the future, than to stay under a pitch black hole avoiding everything for his entire life. Because, he knew, that was where the happiness lied. He could finally say, he was happy.

Perhaps love wasn’t what made you feel like you were always at the edge, but safe in the middle of a green field. Perhaps love was what made you feel like you were lost when the other wasn’t there, but instead what made you feel confident as they nestled within your heart. Perhaps love wasn't what made you feel anxious and jittery, but brave and calm. Perhaps love was believing, certain and free.

And perhaps, it was all Wooyoung.

_ Perhaps, you. _

_ No. _

_ Most definitely, you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THIS BOOK IS OFFICIALLY DONE!!!  
> This was my first time tackling a ship fanfic, entirely driven by the force of Woosan nation (because I’m severely whipped for them), and although I was quite unsure whether my passion would last and finish this off, but yes, I DID IT!  
> If I were to be completely honest, I just randomly came up with the title and didn’t know what it meant lmao until the very end it hit me, and I think this makes sense? I hope?  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please let me know in the comments, and I’d be a happy person :)
> 
> I'm planning on a short epilogue and I hope you stick around!


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a super short epilogue but I needed to write this (ref to the first chapter!)

It was one of those rare occasions where Wooyoung woke up before San. Oftentimes as he fluttered his eyes open, he’d see the other creasing his eyes in fondness, brushing his blonde hair off the forehead, as if he never got tired of the view. And Wooyoung’s heart will stupidly skip in which he was nearly convinced that it wasn’t a healthy thing first thing in the morning. 

He used to wonder what made San so captured looking at the sleeping boy. Wooyoung was so sure that wasn’t his prettiest look. San could just wake up and prepare for his day instead of staring at his silly looking face with his lips parted, sometimes also drooling (a habit which he was so desperate to fix)—although Wooyoung knew he would be disappointed not feeling his presence right next to his as he woke up, now that he was too comfortable being enveloped by his warmth. 

But as he watched the raven haired man’s innocent sleeping face, he felt like he was starting to understand. It was the feeling of honour where the other trusted him enough to share his most vulnerable state where a plenty chance of murder provided (dramatic, yeah, but nothing is  _ too _ dramatic when you’re in love). It was the feeling of privilege being able to share the moment of his life that the man himself was unaware of—as though sharing the time when he was conscious was never enough.

While every romantic he could gather pooled his mind, his body screamed of physical need—he needed to pee. Feeling the pain ripping himself from the comfort, he slid out, careful not to wake the other. He cursed lowly as he felt the heaviness on his hips while his knees wobbled from the effect of last night—although Wooyoung hated feeling weak, he couldn’t deny he loved the way San made him weak. 

Satisfying his human need, he washed his hands, looking up at the mirror in the course. The reflection of him had red and purple bruises on his neck and collarbones, some in the process of healing while some were freshly made. He felt a weird glee at how he was marked by the one and only, and he struggled to stop the mirrored Wooyoung from curving his lips. 

Then he realised there was something he had been missing. One thing Wooyoung was eager to do, probably since the day he laid his eyes on San; to plant a hickey on San’s honeyed chest.

He had plenty of chances to (plenty, yes), and San never forbade him to, but he still hadn’t managed to do it. The thing was, that whenever they had sex (which was when San eagerly marked his lover), Wooyoung was too consumed, too ruined to have a room to think about it, let alone even work on it.

Wooyoung squeezed himself back in San’s arms, eyeing a clean, tempting canvas served in front of his bare eyes, revealed from a hardly buttoned up shirt. Making sure that the other was soundly asleep, he approached, sniffing the comforting smell unique to San, burying his head in the crook of his neck. He gave a light lick on the skin before he proceeded to suck on it.

He pulled away and checked, but all he saw was a slightly glistening skin from his saliva, but still a plain skin. Wooyoung whined in dissatisfaction, trying it for the second time; this time longer. Checking for the second time, he did feel some satisfaction at the small red spot emerging, but still it wasn’t as vivid as the one San gave him. 

“Why is this shit so hard?” he huffed in annoyance, trailing his finger on the spot.

He wanted to try for the third time, when he suddenly felt a grip on his waist tighten, drawing him in the other’s chest.

Wooyoung felt a breath on his ear. “You know you are unbearably adorable right now.”

“You were awake?” Wooyoung groaned, feeling a flush on his cheeks.

“You woke me up,” San chuckled, giving a chaste kiss on his forehead, then muttered, “shame.”

Wooyoung pulled away, raising an arch at the man’s remark.

San eyed him, a wave of taunt rocking in his eyes. “If I didn’t have a job to fill, I’d take you first thing this morning.”

“San-” Wooyoung gasped, feeling his stomach churn in that familiar feeling.

San gave a quick peck on Wooyoung’s red cheek before he woke up, quickly dressing himself up before he could leave for his work. And Wooyoung blankly stared at him, feeling a little annoyed at how it covered the effort he just paid, but foolishly impressed at how his boyfriend looked ever so attractive in a simple black knit and ripped jeans.  _ Really, Jung, enough is enough. _

“Sorry, I gotta run, Woo,” he quickly slung a fanny pack over his shoulder as Wooyoung gave a light wave acknowledging him for the leave.

“See you later,” Wooyoung greeted, glad his face was cooled down, seeing off his boyfriend walking out the door.

Just before shutting the door, San turned. “Ah, Woo.”

Wooyoung tilted his head in question. He saw the man smirking and leaving the word that said;

“Mentally prepare yourself, for I will make sure to mark every part of your body when I get back, you hear me?”

Then he’s gone.

But Wooyoung’s cheeks were back to bursting in full bloom.

_ Enough is enough, Choi San. _

But Wooyoung knew his heart will never get used to the power San held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the official end of this fic! Although I'm sure there are flaws here and there, this still holds a special place in my heart and now I totally get why other writer's say they go through a feeling of 'loss' lol  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed :)  
> This won't be the end of my writing as I am planning on yunsan fluff and woosan somewhere in the future, hoping to see you around then. Stay safe everyone!


End file.
